Requiem
by SlashyJazz
Summary: Alfred Pennyworth had believed that he would remain alone for the rest of his natural life. No wife, no child to call his own, but by chance he receives an anonymous tip that he has a grandson. A grandson named Harry Evans. AU, Slash Bruce/Harry
1. Erase, Pause, Restart

**A/n:** Well hello, before people freak out, no I'm not stealing this story, nor has it been adopted. I'm Addicted-to-the-madness, now under the name SlashyJazz.

 **Summary:** Alfred Pennyworth had believed that he would remain alone for the rest of his natural life. No wife, no child to call his own, but by chance he receives an anonymous tip that he has a grandson. A grandson named Harry Evans. AU, Slash Bruce/Harry

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Batman.

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" **A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me."**

― **Kahlil Gibran** , **The Prophet**

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 _Chapter One_

Harry was floating. That was the only explanation of what he was currently experiencing. The feeling of nothingness, the sight of nothing for miles, everything was just… empty. And surprisingly he felt calmer than he had in years. Just floating in the black abyss, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, touching nothing. Just… existing.

He hadn't been so calm maybe since birth, he sure as hell didn't have any peace with the Dursleys, he had none when he entered Hogwarts; with all the fighting-for-his-life bit. He had felt a small feeling of peace when the constant presence of Voldemort had left his head, the Horcrux finally destroyed and giving him a moment, just a moment of serenity before he knew nothing.

He assumed he got hit by a killing curse or something just as fatal, and while he knew he should be furious, should be screaming about the unfairness of it all. Honestly? He didn't mind. To be dead meant free of responsibilities. No one knew his name in death, no one was going to try to murder him for simply being alive, no old bastard to manipulate him, no friends to abandon then choose to side with him for glory, no persistent girls just wanting him because of his name. Nothing of the sort. And he loved it.

That nothingness. That relief of being no one. He craved it like a hunger.

Harry snorted because he didn't know if it was funny or quite sad that the only time he got peace was when he was dead. The saying never ran so true. Harry sighed and closed his eyes and simply let his body be. He didn't know how long he had been floating but the urge to open his eyes became an itch and soon he looked and nearly jumped out of his corporal skin. Hovering, because suddenly the floating had seemingly _stopped_ and he now stood directly before whom he assumed was Death.

Neither man, nor woman, the person? Because that was the face it was sporting. The face of an androgynous person, and he couldn't tell any further because it wore a cloak that was too baggy to identify the sex. As abruptly as the figure appeared, the shape changed to that of what he had always guessed what Death had looked like. A hooded figure with a scythe and skeletal hands.

"Does this please you Master?" The voice asked, once again not gender identifiable. Harry raised an eyebrow at the… being/creature/thing who had just called him Master, and for once he just let it be. Not questioning anything just accepting.

"You can change into whatever shape you please, it doesn't bother me" Death tilted its head and a giggle echoed in the black space.

"I am what you want me to be Master, a female" the figure changed again to a beautiful redhead with green eyes and a sweet smile, her voice soft "A male" this time it changed to a man with curly black hair, high cheekbones and a wide grin with warm grey eyes before it morphed back into the hooded figure. "Anything you please Master"

Harry simply stared before he shrugged. "What happens now? Do I pass on? Isn't there supposed to be a light.. Or maybe flames or something? Or is this it?" Because really, he may not have been religious despite his aunt trying to wring it in his ears - literally, but he expected something well… _more._

"You are my Master. You have power over Death. If you choose you can return to the moment you died and change its outcome, or you could return to a moment in your life, perhaps your birth and relive your life once more, or you could pass on as you said, and be reincarnated as someone else"

Harry perked up at that, the first two options hardly appealed to him, but the final one. "How so?"

Death leaned forward, and the skeletal hand brushed his hair aside and caressed his cheek. "Another Harry, another life, another outcome, another chance. If you choose this, you will lose all memories of this Harry Potter, all memories of friends, family, tragedy, hurt… sadness. You will be new once more, a new Harry." The voice was soft and a bit raspy but he sensed the gentleness in it.

"The final option" he didn't hesitate. To go back would be to lose his peace, to go back would mean more hurt, more deception, more disappointment. But to go forward would be another adventure. Death never said it would be easy, and he wouldn't delude himself in thinking so, his life, his past life seeing as he was dead wasn't easy so why should his future one be?

"Are you sure Master? To give up your past life would be to give up yourself. Once you say yes, there is no going backwards. No changing the clock, with your confirmation, a new you would restart the clock, and the old you will die, and with the old you I shall also pass, your mark shall be removed from my being and you shall no longer be my Master. Is this what you truly want?"

Harry looked up at the hooded figure and he smiled, a true smile that he meant with his very core.

"Then I thank you for having me as your Master for these past few minutes Death. It was an honor, but I will have to say yes"

He got the impression that Death was smiling, a feeling of happiness or was it smugness radiated from the figure before the hand that was on his cheek slid up to his forehead. The skinless fingers tapped his forehead once, then twice and Harry felt the floating sensation again.

"I thank you Master, for your service to Death."

Harry could only close his eyes as he felt his body shrink. It was like watching his life backwards, moment flashed by behind his eyelids, or was it his mind?

The battle with Voldemort, finding out Severus was the half blood prince, Sirius' death, his first time seeing Hogwarts, Hedwig, his first cake, meeting Hagrid, his first letter, the cupboard, the sound of a soft voice and then… a green light.

Death watched as her Master aged backwards until only a small baby floated in the space and then that child too vanished. Death giggled again and looked down in it's hand where all three Deathly Hallows were; the cloak, the stone and the wand.

"Goodbye Harry Potter… Master of Death" and with that the Hallows ignited and burned until only ash remained and soon Death disappeared just as her Master did.

 **BH**

 **A/n:** As stated before, I'm Addicted-to-the-madness and by some unfortunate circumstances I lost my user info to that old account and such, so my new name is SlashyJazz. Anyone who is familiar with _**His**_ _**Guardian, His Guide**_ \- I won't change up the chapters too much, though I may edit and add something extra. Anyone now reading this for the first time, thanks for reading and please leave a review~!


	2. Woe is me, to be a rat

**A/n:** Second chapter! Thank you for the reviews and, to those who read this already, as you can see I made a few changes. Enjoy~

 **Ps** : Forgive me for any mistakes towards the characters and the places and stuff, I'll do my research but I'm not a super fan of either.

 **Warnings:** Child neglect.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from **Harry Potter** or **Batman.**

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" **You can share in my joy, but I don't want to share my misery. No, I want to give away my misery. Go ahead, take it all." ― Jarod Kintz, 99 Cents For Some Nonsense.**

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 _Chapter Two_

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Alfred stared at the rather gloomy building in front of him. That was the only word that he found that quite fit it without using words such as demented because if he had to be honest with himself he expected the moment he stepped beyond the cracking double wooden doors ghosts and ghouls would attack him.

The exterior of the building was in simple terms, rotting. The boards that he could only imagine that were blue or maybe even white in past were now grey had holes that the ants and termites ate through. He could see even from where he stood that the rain also played a great number of deals to the structure seeing as a side of the roof was caving in.

The baby blue eyes of the butler looked up at the sign which still miraculously held up.

"Wool's Orphanage for the Unwanted Children" he grimaced.

Merciful god, even the name was depressing! Perhaps he might just encounter a few stray spirits in the place that looked more like a morgue than a home for children.

His gloved hand knocked at the door that had begun to gather frostbite and he wondered about the condition of the children inside.

The door groaned under his knuckle and the man hoped that it wouldn't collapse. He was under no delusion that the people, or most likely the children were suffering inside, no need to kill them with the lack of a door. He waited a few moments and soon enough a long deep sound that sounded almost like a moan followed after the clicking of a bolt.

A woman who seemed as ancient as the dwelling stared up at him with eyes as cold as the current season. "Yes?" she hissed.

Alfred blinked once before clearing his throat.

"Good-day Madame, I received information that a young boy of the name Harry Evans resides in this establishment. Am I correct or perhaps I am mistaken?" dear god let him be mistaken...

The woman stood a bit straighter though it was hardly an improvement due to the hump of what used to be a back. Her wisps of stark white hair blew about her face that seemed to be etched in the stone he stood upon.

"Why would you want such a thing?" the disgust was palpable.

"With all due respect Madame, no child should be called a 'thing'" he responded back like the good Englishman he was raised to be.

The woman sneered, a nasty sight that was portrayed with yellow teeth that were few to begin with and stepped back a clear and unwilling invitation for him to follow.

"There're all things. Such nasty things who cry too much, who want too much. Greedy 'ittle bastards that mummy and daddy didn't want! Nasty nasty little _things!_ Whores birthed 'em, Bastards sired 'em, and given to me!"

Alfred bit his tongue and ignored the woman. While he was trained to ignore certain situations, to ignore people and ignorant comments, the things she was saying dug deep under his perfected poker face. Stepping inside he had expected gloom and utter doom but -

"My God..." he ignored the chilling look the old woman sent him at his outburst. No one would blame him and he wasn't in the least sorry because if he hadn't a glimmer of dignity he would fall to his knees and pray there and now.

Rats.

His eyes grew large when a particularly large one walked. Not scurried in fear of humans but walked like a common house cat that was familiar with its masters. He looked up and saw several others hanging on the spiraling railing of the stairs either simply lazing around or staring at him.

"Hurry up!" he looked away from the beady eyed rodents and to the hunched over woman who was standing on the other side of the room.

Without hesitation he followed with a shiver of repulsion that lingered. His black polished shoes slowly but surely were consumed in dust the farther he followed her into the building. In the back of his mind he wondered if he was going to be murdered. Wrinkling his nose, it bloody well _smelt_ as if something had been dead and on it's way to decomposing.

"Madame… what is that smell?" The woman turned and gave him a smile though her eyes were nasty glint.

"Why don't you go and see hmm Mr. Money and maybe you could buy a new roof or I know! Take away this damnable dirty _rats_ from my care! All of 'em! All of 'em! Each dirty, each nasty, sniveling little greedy things! But ho ho! You only want that tiny freak, the one 'hat thinks he's better than the rest. Thrown away by them you see, Rats all of 'em!"

His brows furrowed and he pursed his lips, refraining from telling the woman what exactly was on his mind and the tip of his tongue, instead following her silently, even though he glared a hole in her hunched back.

Looking up he saw flakes of snow drifting from the large hole in the roof above and his eyebrows furrowed even deeper when he heard the distinctive hacking cough and loud sneeze of a child. They couldn't possibly be in such conditions could they?

A withered and skinny hand pushed open the lone door in the area drawing another sorrowful and eerie moan as it opened. It was then and there that Alfred's heart broke. No words could be spoken- all he could do was stare with his mouth slightly agape.

No less than thirty children were all bundled together in a heap of blankets that looked thin enough they could be paper and he knew that moths had them as regular meals. The room was bare save for a crumbling fireplace that barely sustained a pathetic fire.

Sniffles and hacking coughs that shook their clearly malnourished frames were heard every few moments and by the looks of it, more than a few of the children had fevers, their faces red with colour that could only come from sickness and not internal body temperature. With a heavy heart he knew that many of them may not last until spring came.

He looked down to the creaky boards that were littered with the white fluff that children back in Gotham ran and begged parents to play in, here the children only wanted it to disappear. A rather violent cough snapped him back to reality and he looked up to see a boy of what he estimated to be fifteen shaking in the aftermath and with no effort spat a gob of yellow mucus and saliva just a foot away from the pile.

"Do you see any you would like to buy?" came the dry voice of the keeper who he sent a glare of his own too.

She snorted and faced the children who had yet to notice them. "Evans!" Alfred jumped along with the children at the shrill voice. If he was to be dramatic he would say that it reminded him of nails on a chalkboard.

He watched and waited but none of the children responded to the name. The young butler barely refrained from repeating it again but couldn't stop the flinch when the old matron called out again.

His blue eyes scanned the crowd of children to see which responded this time. "Where is Evans!" she asked or rather screamed in a voice that no one would believe she had in the small hunched frame of hers. "Where is that smart little rat!? Get out here boy, stop wasting my time! 'ere wants ye!"

"H-he's over 'ere M-m-ma'am" he located the soft and stuttering voice be it from the cold or a natural fear of the woman to a small red haired girl that was near in the center of the mass of bodies. A hand that matched her body perfectly from the sickly thin hands, to the sunken face and almost hollowed brown eyes pointed away from the large bundle of children that sought each other for warmth, even though their bodies didn't have the fatty mass to even produce any semblance of it. Alfred followed the hand to the corner of the room where from the distance he could see bony legs poke out from the end of a short ratted blanket. The small figure was alone, curled in on itself.

Alfred strode across the room in long steps, his heart increasing in speed the closer he got to the body.

It was un-moving and that bothered Alfred greatly enough to have his heart hammering in his ears.

He knelt down and pulled the blanket back and once again a gasp was torn from him. His heart ached. Ached worse than it had when he was informed that his master, the man who he had grown fond of not only as a boss but as a cherished friend was killed along with his wife. It ached worse than when he held onto a wailing eight year old Bruce at the police station. Ached more than when he watched the two coffins being lowered into the earth. More than when he stood by and watched as his young master fell into a spiral of depression.

Without another moment's hesitation he ripped off his trench coat and jacket and soon had the ting figure bundled up into the warm material. "Child!" he tapped against the cheek and flinched at the subzero temperature. The boy in his arms was so chilled that he had stopped shivering drawing more concern from Alfred. "Harry!" he tried again as he began the task of creating friction between the boy and the two coats.

He placed his head to the bony chest just to make sure the poor soul was still alive, it took a moment before he heard a fluttering heartbeat. He rubbed harder mindful still of the boy's obvious fragility but he could deal with red skin after he placed some heat within his body.

Behind him the matron snorted and gave the children around her one last look of disdain before she hobbled back through the door.

"Make sure to close the door behind you! Every time it's opened more come in. More _mouths_ , more _clothes_ , more _rats!_ " she sneered to Alfred who jumped at the sound of her voice. His blue eyes gazed down intently on the pale colored child in his arms.

"Harry my boy, open up your eyes" he whispered to the child. What good was it trying to warm him if he didn't have the will to wake up? As if someone heard him the boy being gave a pitiful whimper and seemed to fold in on himself.

"Harry?" he called the boy's name, his heart sang when he saw movement beneath the blue tinted eyelids. That was good enough for him.

Alfred hoisted the child up into his arms and hugged the teeth chattering child as close as possible and as if he really saw the ghouls and ghost he thought he would see he quickly as the icy floor would permit, exited the crumbling building and into the car that awaited him outside of the building.

"To the nearest hospital. Now!" he barked when the chap at the wheel only stared at him through the window. Every second they wasted the boy in his arms could lose the chance at life. He wouldn't entertain his hopes of the child surviving only with his hands as the source of supplying heat. No the boy need proper care that he couldn't provide with an overcoat and a winter trench.

The young man at the wheel stuttered out a response that Alfred neither cared to hear or wanted to hear, what mattered was that the car was moving towards the hospital and that the boy would at least have a chance.

 **-:-BH-:-**

It was a trying month for Alfred, after taking Harry from that place he was simply to say devastated at the information the doctor had given him.

Harry on the other hand wouldn't even look him straight in the eye, his gaze almost aimed at the ground or at his chest, he wouldn't allow any physical contact, and even the doctors and nurses found the constant flinching and weak struggles to be difficult. So it was for the best when they decided to put him into an induced coma, not a heavy one, just enough for them to be able to administer certain medicines. When he was awake however he would not talk, only giving slight nods, but never words.

Blue eyes snapped open when he felt someone nudge him or more likely, he felt the sheets he was leaning on move. Blue clashed with green and there they stayed, staring at each other until the owner of the green looked away quickly. It was only a few days that he had been taken out of the chemical coma, and every time he woke, Alfred would introduce himself and ask the question he desperately wanted an answer to.

Alfred silently chided himself from causing the child discomfort already. Time to start anew then. The butler straightened in his seat and smiled down at the owlishly blinking boy who for the entire world seemed to be swallowed by the sheets around his tiny form.

"Hullo there, my name is Alfred Pennyworth and I have been told that your name is Harry" he smiled wider when he received a slight nod from the mop of coal black hair. Green eyes stared up at him from under dark hair before he looked away once more.

Alfred smiled softly at the child. He would get better one day, he knew this with certainty.

"Harry my dear boy… how would you like to go and live with me and my charge in Gotham City?"

 **-:-BH-:-**

 **A/n:** Hope you enjoyed the chapter that introduces reincarnated Harry. Thanks for reading and don't forget to _**review**_ ~


	3. I am but a small dragon

**A/n:** Thank you for all the reviews! Short chapter but bare with me.

 **Warnings:** Little wittle Brucey~

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from **Harry Potter** or **Batman.**

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" **You raze the old to raise the new." ― Justina Chen Headley**

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 _Chapter Three_

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Harry stared out of the plane window in fascination. He never would've thought… never would've dreamed that he Harry Evans, the skinniest kid in the orphanage, the one who everyone bullied even though they were just as worst off as him.

He was flying in a plane! Harry turned in the impossibly soft chair and beamed at the blue eyed man beside him. Alfred as if sensing eyes on him looked up from the magazine he was engrossed in. _Butler's Weekly_ was one of the few pleasures he indulged himself in.

Blue eyes met with green and Alfred for the life of him couldn't stop marvelling at how beautiful his new charges eyes were. Emeralds weren't the right word, because in his opinion the six year old's eyes were far more exotic. A gentle smile curved at his lips and he closed the magazine the page already marked.

He wasn't going to begin the conversation. Over the last three months that he had spent with Harry, with a week or two back in Gotham to spend with his young Master, he had realised that the boy was more skittish than a wild foal. As if on cue Harry quickly ducked his head and shrunk in on himself the thick blue blanket pulled tighter to his body.

Alfred's smile faltered for a moment as he watched the boy who was supposedly his grandson try to hide himself within the folds of the blanket when their eyes met. This brought out a fire in him unlike any other. Even the death of his master and mistress hadn't made one burn so. The fire gave him motivation to see that dreadful and horrible place that he had plucked young Harry from demolished. The night of Harry rescue and hospitalization he had made several calls to the government, most of which were ignored but he had pushed on.

To see children suffer in such a thriving country made him sick and he was sure that every last person in that place had some sort of sickness be it influenza or possibly leukemia. He then turned to his connections that he had picked up in his years of serving and after getting a direct line to the Minister of Health and Social and Family Affairs he arranged a meeting in the next month with the current and previous Ministers where one was for some reason completely adamant about having the orphanage stay up and running and the next was willing to do as much as he could to get help for the children.

Alfred would rather soon bite his own foot off than allow that blasted place to stay standing and see those children suffer any longer.

"U-um…" Alfred zoned back in and glanced down at the child beside him. Harry visibly swallowed and released a shuddering breath before he peeked up at the older man his dark hair shielding his eyes.

"I-I… I wanna thank you…for…for helping me and…" Alfred's smile was wider and his blue eyes watered a bit before he quickly wiped away the beginnings of tears. Sometimes he was such a big softie…

Alfred reached out and softly patted the boy's messy hair making the smaller than normal child jump in his seat. Wide eyes stared up at him in partial fear and longing. Alfred's heart lurched when he saw the boy subconsciously move towards his hand when he lifted it.

He wasn't expecting much progress in three months but still…

He had a full physical examination done on Harry, along with a M.R.I that he recommended even before the doctor suggested it. Harry was given every medical shot that he had been denied and had gone through as much therapy as he could handle. The therapist had told Alfred that Harry was going to be like a puppy so to speak but even more painfully shy, frightened, and a was going to be a magnet for affection. He was also warned that he wasn't allowed to push the child into anything and Alfred agreed seeing as he was close to the verge of starvation and hypothermia.

He wouldn't blame the boy if he never allowed someone to sit within ten feet of him much less touch him. Severe Neglect was one of the many things on the long list of problems associated with Harry. Anyone outside of the hospital would have believed that he was from a poverty stricken country not Great bloody Britain!

Alfred nodded and smiled wider at the boy who snuck a peek at Alfred when the man took too long to answer.

"It is I who must thank you my boy. You have given me the pleasure of finding something that I longed for dearly." Alfred murmured to the child whose green eyes peeked up curiously at him.

"W-what is it?" Harry asked tentatively.

Alfred smiled his eyes curving and his moustache twitching. "It's a secret for later on my dear boy" Alfred told the green eyed boy.

Alfred opened his eyes and was delighted when he saw the small formation of a pout. Good. The child should be acting his age after all and hopefully with the aid of his young master his plan should go in perfect accordance. His young master Bruce was two years older than Harry was and he was sure that there would be a bit of conflict but as children of similar ages they would be drawn together. Ah…

He felt a bit like a criminal mastermind. Plotting against two children in such a way. With a smile Alfred sat back when he saw Harry's attention was back to the floating puffs that were clouds, and once again _Butlers Weekly_ was receiving his full attention even though he kept an ear out to the six year old beside him.

 **BH**

Bruce a mess of emotions. Was it because his parents had decided to leave him? Or was it that Alfred who swore to stay by his side at said parents' funeral was barely around? Or maybe it was the boy who occupied Alfred's attention away from him?

He had overheard two of who he assumed were new maids gossiping about overhearing some of the senior maids preparing to welcome a young boy into the manor. Bruce would've snorted and told on them but he was eavesdropping as well.

The orphan screamed in frustration into the big white pillow in his grasp the beginning of angry tears making their presence known to him. Great and now he was crying! The boy stubbornly wiped them away and set his mouth in a firm line to keep it from trembling. He didn't why such bad things were happening to him. First his mommy and daddy left him because of some greedy man and then Alfred left him to be with another boy. Maybe he was unwanted? Yea that had to be it…

Bruce sniffed and buried his head deeper into the pillow as the tears finally won the battle of resistance. He just didn't understand. Alfred was supposed to be his friend and stay with him. He had taken care of him since he was a baby so why wasn't he there with him now when he needed him most? Why was he there with him!

A red hot anger enveloped him as he tried to think why the other boy was so special that he got all of Alfred attention. Alfred was his by law and money! Bruce flinched when he thought of the chastising he would've received from his father if the deceased man had heard such a sentence escape his mouth. He bet that if his father even got the idea that he was _thinking_ such a thing he would surely receive a lash or perhaps a punishment. His father wasn't very tolerant about him disrespecting the people who worked to make their lives easier. Bruce sighed deeply as his anger faded and was replaced by curiosity.

He wondered though who the boy was that had managed to gain Alfred's undivided notice. Sure the man spent a few days or at most a week or two with him but he also spent _months_ with the boy. Had the boy lost his parents' and home too? Or maybe he lost his home and all of his money or his parents' had left him because they didn't love him any longer. Or perhaps they boy was ill?

Bruce scoffed. If the boy was sick why should Alfred tend to him when they were hospitals to take care of him? He knew that he sound stuck up like his classmate Fredrick and that it was wrong to accuse the boy of not needing Alfred's help but… but… He needed Alfred more! Alfred was his! He didn't care what anybody said! Alfred belonged to him not some boy whose parents' didn't love him enough to care for him!

Bruce pulled his face from the pillow and laid on his back his mind tumbling with ideas that would surely get him in trouble but so what? Alfred was his to keep not some poor sick baby who could take care of himself.

Bruce nodded in resolution. He hated that boy who hogged Alfred's time that should be spent with him. No matter how much anyone tried to, he wouldn't get along with the _baby_ and he would show him what happened to those who took things from him.

 **BH**

Harry grumbled in his sleep as Alfred lifted him from the aeroplane's chair and onto the furnished wheelchair that he had customized for the small youth. The fluffy blue blanket was placed over his legs in hopes of staving off some of the early morning chill. He had hoped that the flight would allow them to land while the sun was out even if just slightly.

Alfred sighed. Sure the sun would come out. In another three and half hours if he was correct.

The man nodded and smiled at the air hostess that was hired for the private jet and returned the well wishes before he gently and carefully pushed the wheelchair down the silver ramp and onto the ground. Even with the jacket he wore the cold still seeped in but thankfully his job required him to think several steps ahead and so Harry was wrapped up quite well with a jacket of his own and gloves, and hat along with boots plus the blanket over his legs.

Alfred entered and exited the airport without a hitch as he registered his passport and Harry's newly made one and soon enough he was loading the still sleeping child in the black stretch. He would've done with something similar but his deceased Master was always one for flair.

Alfred nodded to the driver as an affirmative to get on with it. Even with the covering and shelter of both the car and clothing he wouldn't put it past the boy's fragile body and state to not contract a cold or worse. The faster they could get into the manor the better it was for the child.

Harry snuggled into the pillow that he had requested to be bought along while his small bony hand reached out. Alfred tilted his head slightly to the right before he took hold of the much smaller hand within his much larger one and gave it a soft squeeze. A smile curved at his lips making his moustache twitch when the boy gave a rather adorable contented sigh one akin to a puppy.

He would try to make things right in the child's life and he would succeed. The first thing in the morning after a quick nap and see to his young master's needs along with his new charge's own he would make a few more calls.

The butler gazed out of the tinted windows and at the city that was lite up showing its beauty and not the darkness that lurked within it. He would try his best to make things right because he was nothing if not efficient.

 **BH**

 **A/n:** Once again thank you for the reviews and yes, something will be done about the orphanage, maybe in the next chapter or so.


	4. Into the monster's jaw I go

**A/n:** This one is going to be a bit dark and I apologize for any mistakes found in advance, but here's the fourth chapter, Enjoy~!

 **Warnings:** Flashback scenes from the Orphanage and some more bits.

 **Disclaimer:** I _**do not**_ own the characters from **Harry Potter** or **Batman.**

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" **But she's wrong about hell. You don't have to wait until you're dead to get there."**

― **Susan Beth Pfeffer** **,** **Life As We Knew It**

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 _Chapter Four_

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Harry's hand fiddled with a loose strand of cotton that hung from his dark green pants. His green dress shirt and black waist coat with a black bow-tie, accentuated his emerald eyes, and with the seemingly static shock of his curly hair being brushed into a semblance of order to a point, he felt like his was looking at someone totally different than himself. He looked up at the mirror once more and glanced at his reflection. The boy standing before him wasn't the dirty rag covered child that Mr. Alfred had picked up out of good-will and pity. He now resembled the happy children he saw drive past the orphanage in their gleaming black cars with a mother and father sitting on both sides as they smiled and laughed.

Sure he didn't have either a father or a mother but he looked every-bit of the children he saw. Harry smiled shyly at the mirrored image and watched with a sense of bliss as the flesh on his rosy cheeks stretched and his white teeth gleamed back at him. His hand moved from the material of his pants to the hem of his shirt. The pale hand which didn't look as skeleton as it had before now held more skin and a bit of fat around it. He tugged at the waistcoat and frowned at the baggy-ness of it. Even though he had in fact gained weight and one or two inches in height he was still small.

It was amazing what sixteen months of treatment, therapy and constant care could do to someone. Three meals a day, thirty minutes of exercise, ten different colored pills for nutrition and vitamins and tons of affection could do to someone of his position. Still, it seemed as if the effects of the orphanage would stay with him for a long time.

"Harry?"

He jumped away from the mirror and stared wide-eyed at the tall butler who had taken care of him for the last year and three months along with the help of Mrs. Robins, a maid that was working for the Wayne's longer than Alfred. Speaking of the woman…

Mrs. Robins giggled from behind Alfred who smiled gently at the boy. The woman was generously proportioned with brown graying hair and warm chocolate brown eyes, wrinkles that he knew came from only laughter and few worries were etched on her face and she always had a smile on her lips. The hugs she gave…oh the hugs she gave were warmer than the blanket he received from Alfred the first day he came into Gotham City. Her hugs were like the fires hearth and a mother's' love combined. Alfred chuckled behind his gloved hand at Harry's squeal when the woman rushed over and pulled him into her large bosom.

"Now Agatha. As adorable as Harry may be, he needs to breathe in case you have forgotten"

Mrs. Robins released Harry and blushed slightly at her impulsiveness before reaching down and smoothing out the small boy's rumpled clothes.

"Oh dear, your hair is rebelling again" she said and was already on her way towards the dresser where an assortment of grooming supplies were.

Alfred chuckled once again at the scandalous look Harry sported before he crouched down to be close to the eye-level of the child.

"Is something bothering you Harry? You know that you can tell me child" Alfred said gently as he brushed off imaginary dust from Harry's clothing.

Harry once again fidgeted, his small hands wringing together and pulling at the soft layer of skin over tiny bones. He jumped when a white gloved hand over his and pulled the slightly red limbs apart. Alfred's blue met his green and Harry felt a sudden sense of self-disappointed from the way Alfred was looking at him.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered. Alfred smiled sadly and picked the small child up and carried him over to the large bed where he sat down. Harry squirmed slightly in his lap, a dark flush on his cheeks already.

"You have nothing to be sorry for child. Now tell me, what has you so worried? Is meeting young Master Bruce too soon for you? If it is I can postpone it." Alfred suggested.

"Harry's greener than green eyes widened and he shook his head, sending the dark curls flying.

"No no! I want to meet your Bruce. I've heard you speak of him so many times and- and… if Alfred… if grandfather likes him so much then.. Then I wanna as well" Harry murmured even though he soon buried his head into Alfred chest, missing the look of total shock and astonishment on the butler's face.

It wasn't by any stretch of means the first time Harry had called him 'grandfather' but everytime the word slipped from the small boy's mouth it filled Alfred with such a feeling. Warmth was too lacking to completely describe it but the feeling itself was gentle, it was… amazing.

Alfred smiled ignoring how Mrs. Robin was dabbing at her eyes with the hem of her apron. Gently patting the boy's head, he gave him a slight squeeze that made Harry immediately latch onto Alfred to return the hug.

"Then I would be honored to introduce you to young master Bruce Wayne. I believe that you two will become very good friends. I wish that more than anything. My treasured grandson a friend of my young master. That sight would fill my heart with more joy than I can comprehend" Alfred replied and placed an almost non-existent kiss on Harry now messy once again hair.

Alfred placed the child on his feet and stood straightening his clothing, looking every bit the proper and skilled butler. Harry looked up, his eyes wide as he stared at the man who had confessed to be his grandfather a few month prior, with a look that could only be awe.

"Come now Harry, we mustn't keep young master Bruce waiting shall we?"

Harry shook his head, and he heard Agatha sigh in the background, probably over the mess of his hair that she had fought with earlier that morning. Harry, though he wanted to make a good impression on whom would be his playmate and friend hopefully, he frankly could care less about his hair having long since given up on it years back before he was sent to the orphanage by - shaking his head he dispelled those thoughts from his head. Now wasn't the time to think about those people, now wasn't the time to let his happy albeit nervous mood turn sour like the time Gerald the newest butler had left out the crate of fresh delivered milk for two days in the back room and allowed it to go sour. Harry giggled remembering the scolding the twenty something had received via Agatha's sharp tongue. So no, he wouldn't let bad thoughts spoil his mood!

Not to say he wasn't deathly nervous and afraid and oh so desperate for this meeting to turn out fine. Since Alfred had told him a week ago he was going to meet Bruce constant night terrors had invaded his dreams. Scenes of Bruce rejecting him because of where he came from, of horrible teasing and bullying, of name calling and worse of all knowing what had happened in the orphanage. Of the horrible thing he had done and promised he would never do again, of why he was sent there in the first place. The dreams sometimes shifted to a different perspective, of Bruce being afraid of him and telling Alfred and Agatha of what he did. The three people he oh so much wanted to impress, who he wanted to accept him cowered away from him, eyes filled with fear and words nasty and filled with hate. Or the worst scenario yet, Alfred and Bruce cornering him one day and telling him that this was all just an elaborate plan, a trick devised with the orphanage matron to teach him a lesson, that freaks could have good things. That he didn't deserve to be happy, to have someone to call family and people to love him, to be able to have three meals and snacks daily, baths and books upon books to read, that freakish boys weren't meant to be contented.

Harry looked up at Alfred and blinked greener than green eyes, focusing on the blue, one of the first pair of eyes he had ever seen that held concern for him since he woke up in a warm, soft bed with heavy, softer than soft and warmer than warm blankets over him. He would never forget that look of utter compassion and sympathy and blatant love wrapped in intense baby blue, all the emotions his groggy and lethargic mind could pick up which made him oh so very frightened. Those emotions and feelings were never aimed at him, and each time he saw those eyes, each time he woke up time and time again because his head was heavy and he couldn't stop himself from falling asleep again, those blue eyes would be there to greet him. And each time those intense eyes with those intense feelings scared the little life he had in him. That was why, that treasured final moment when he finally could stay awake for more than a few seconds and could clearly see the man behind behind that gaze and those fated words that brought him where he was today; he didn't want to ruin the meeting, he wanted Alfred happy. He never wanted those blue eyes to ever look upon him with anything other than those feelings he witnessed in the hospital and the looks of utter adoration he received daily.

Alfred smiled at his second charge and exited the room, hearing Harry's smaller and louder, yet a bit clumsy footsteps behind him as well as Agatha's. Turning he saw the maid holding Harry's hand in her soft ones as the child talked animatedly about something he had read last night.

In these instances Alfred always wondered just how Harry had ended up in that god-awful place of an orphanage. The boy was obviously educated, his speech pattern was correct, if not a bit childish at times. He was literate and seemed to have a bit more knowledge than the average child his age. The question of just how Harry had ended up in the crumbling place was a mystery the child had yet to reveal to Alfred, or the shrink or the social services officers. Having always closed up like a particularly stubborn clam when it came up.

Alfred wanted to know, no he needed to know how his grandchild came about to be in such a god-forsaken place in the first bloody instance! For the boy to educated and literate would mean he was in a home previously, someone had been taking care of his grandson, and whether that person had died, misplaced or simply abandoned the child - Alfred needed to know!

He could cross off Harry learning anything from the orphanage, since they barely had the basic supplies for standard sleeping arrangements much less books. And any books were mostly likely to be moth ridden or destroyed to add to the fire.

Closing his eyes briefly he sighed and thanked whoever was listening that he was able to get the place closed and the surviving children relocated to better and safer orphanages. He had heard from his contacts that a few had found new homes with foster parents already. The winter sadly, had not been kind to the children he had left behind when he had taken Harry from the desolate residence. When he had returned months later, he had found the matron at the bottom of the stairs in a drunken stupor and even fatter rats.

::

 _Alfred stared at the old matron who stared back at him with bleary eyes that squinted at him before a bony gnarled hand pointed at him. He didn't want to be here, he wanted to be miles and miles away from this cold and sad place, and even further away from the woman who personified all of the wicked witches in the fairy tales his grandmother used to tell him, the ones where the children weren't saved and happy ending were just imaginary and princesses became monsters and princes were thrown from cliffs._

" _You… I rem-remember you! You took - took - took the little thing from here!" She hiccuped and slumped backwards on the stairs, seemingly passed out. Walking past her, he led the people behind him, several child services officials, paramedics and two police officers. By the looks on their faces, they had never seen the orphanage, or perhaps never heard of it. Looking up again he was met by the stairs of even beadier eyes and whiskered faces, if it was possible the rats looked even fatter and he wondered what exactly they were eating inside of the building. Shaking his head as he walked away with a shudder when one leaped from the banister and directly in front one of the police officers who yelped. When he found the room where he last saw the children bundled up in a great pile of bony limbs and starved eyes, sadness washed over him. The pile was obviously smaller now, even though spring was beginning to creep in, ready to dominate the chilly weather._

 _The people behind him instantaneously ran towards the children and Alfred found his gaze drifting to the corner where Harry had lain. Walking slowly over the snow covered ground, a part of the room having finally collapsed inwards, he crouched down next to the small still body of a girl who may have been a year or two older than his Harry._

 _Even without touching her Alfred knew that she was dead. The thin chest of the emaciated body didn't rise and fall, and there were no movements under her eyelids. She was curled into a tight ball, the dirty dress having begun to cover with snow. Calling over one of the paramedics he watched as the young man announced the child dead, her limbs too stiff from the cold and rigor mortis to unfurl just yet. Sighing Alfred stepped away from the deceased child, knowing that if he had been just a day late, that would've been Harry._

 _Walking away from the room, away from the gasps, and the crying and the sounds of ossified chests rattling from coughs he wandered the halls of the ghostly haunt. Most of the rooms were bare, striped clean of any material, even the windows were bare of curtains. He had to step over and around several weakened spots in the floorboards, feeling the wood beginning to give away under his feet._

 _Going upstairs would be more trouble than it was worth, so it stayed on the ground level. He came to what may have been the kitchen, now filled with dusty pots and and pans that looked as if they hadn't been used in ages, if the heavy layer of dust that covered the place was any indication. The only thing was was considered disturbed would be the glass bottles of cheap rum that were either broken or half full._

 _He stepped away from the room, hearing the woman, a child services officer take a picture of the room after she followed him. It was five doors down, that he begun to smell something awful, something rotting and obviously very, very dead. Looking to his right showed that the woman could smell it as well._

 _Taking his time on the shaky floorboards he turned the corner that led to another hallway that housed two doors, one was open and empty and looked to be a bathroom and the next was locked. Jiggling the knob, he realised that the door was locked but it was there that the scent was most powerful. He prayed it were dead rats, he prayed with every fiber in his bones that the scent of death that covered the hallway enough to make him gag was from the dead bodies of those huge rats that lived in the manor._

 _Stepping back he raised his leg and kicked at the door. Once, twice, three times and then it opened._

 _Behind him he distantly heard the woman throw up, he heard her running away from the door, from the hallway screaming for help, screaming about dead children._

 _She wasn't wrong._

 _Covering his nose and mouth with the scarf that was wrapped around his neck, and resisting the tempting urge to throw up his egg benedict and earl grey he had for breakfast he simply stared. At the broken naked bodies that were twisted in such a way it seemed unnatural._

 _Girls, boys, toddlers, babies and teens._

 _Children that died perhaps even before the snow had come and some fresher than he would've liked. He looked at the smallest body his eyes could locate, an impossibly small baby, just under the body of a teenaged girl. Bodies malnourished and forgotten, that couldn't be buried because of the hard ground of the too long winter. Twisted limbs and faces etched in permanent pain and anguish, either from starvation or from illness. He had to drag his eyes away from the baby, a too tiny torso with too tiny ribs that stuck out from lack of nutrients and decay. He felt as if he was watching the war on the telly again with his mother, seeing the lines upon lines of dead men covered in white sheets, only this time he was seeing the gore and feeling the direct pain of those who had passed too soon before their time._

 _He stayed at the doorway, because he had no desire to enter such a room where countless children were tossed into like broken unwanted dolls when the owner grew tired of it and wanted_ another _and two, the massive swarm of flies and maggots that surrounded the bodies was enough to persuasion to stay put. The room was a graveyard in every sense of the word, a tomb for children. Unwillingly his eyes roamed around the room spotting what looked to be the stark white bone of a pelvic area. Finally turning away when the policemen, a few more that must have been called in because of the situation, rushed towards the room and he heard several being sick. He didn't blame them. Making a bee-line towards the exit, not looking into the room that housed the children, not looking at the drunken matron, or the crying social officer, he stepped outside pulled down his scarf and emptied his stomach._

 _Nightmarish wasn't enough of a description for the room, for the building! Those children were someone's own - some woman and man's offspring regardless if they were given up or orphaned by circumstance. Those dead and decaying children were someone's child and to see them in such a state of careless burial…_

 _This place was a broken hell._

 _He had been right about it probably having ghost seeing as many children died. He slid down until he resting on an empty plant pot that sat beside the front steps. How many children died in there was yet to be discovered._

 _The very thought of Harry among that pile of twisted bodies, starved and frozen in fear, in pain, empty eyes forever lonely - had him leaning to the side and throwing up again._

 _This place was Hell. There was no other word for it. Children suffered and died in there watching as their companions drifted off into the afterlife as their bodies stopped moving and having to sit by and watch it happen over and over again until it was finally their turn to die. Wondering and fearing when it would be their turn to follow. There was no other word for it. There was no other explanation._

 _He left the premises, no longer wanting to be near such a place where children had suffered, forgotten. His skin itched and he scratched at it from over his jacket and underclothes, scratched at it until it burned. He felt dirty in such a way only when someone witnessed something horrifying and ungodly. He made his way to his hotel room and scrubbed his skin until it turned red, if he could bleach his memory he would. After he had had a near panic attack in the shower, after he had cried for those broken bodies he came to the conclusion that he was glad he saw what he did, because now those children had someone who mourned their death, who did not know them but would remember them, who had cried for them and would miss them even if he had yet to and would never meet them._

 _It was two weeks later that he had gotten a call from the police. In the yard they found multiple more buried bodies, varying in age. Some still decomposing, having been kept by the cold earth, and others just skeletons. Some graves had multiple bodies, but never more than three per hole._

 _A week after that the orphanage was knocked down, all the bodies of the children that had died, dug up, moved and taken to a cemetery. In the place of the building structure was a monument. A monument that Alfred helped to pay for. They would not know the names of all the children that died but at least this way they weren't completely forgotten._

::

It was only after Alfred had brought Harry to Gotham did one of the police officers call and inform him that the orphanage was not only illegal, but those children who they had managed to locate at least their names, were the children of women who went missing. Another call came in weeks after that and Alfred was bemused to know that someone because of his help they discovered a slave trade in the dirtiest part of London. He had sat down and listened to who he knew was a young man but sounded as if he aged decades and beyond tell him the gritty details of all the evidence they managed to dig up from the dead bodies. Slave trade, child prostitution, crack houses. The orphanage was apparently not an orphanage but the house where the children who had yet to be used, or who had been broken in and used to the point that they became useless were sent. According to Officer Thomas, the two men who were in charge of such an operation and who were easy enough to catch, ran into some trouble with one of their clients after several of the children sold died within a week of arrival, the client had spread the word and business went downhill. The 'Orphanage' was one of the first places they cut off from financial aid as they tried to save their black market business. The matron was just some woman that was hired by the previous bosses of the trade.

A trade that had to some extent gone on for several long years, if Officer Thomas wanted to be specific, for over two and half decades it seemed. Alfred had hung soon after as the thought of Harry going through something like that… being touched in such a way, being used until he was thrown aside because he was too broken in. Alfred wanted to catch the next flight out and break several bones in their bodies, to hear those men and that repulsive woman scream and plead and beg him to stop, but oh he wouldn't he would break them and break them again. He knew though that he could never break them as they broke those children and their mothers and all those before them.

He wondered though, in the darkest parts of his mind, where all the horrible and terrible and awful things he had perceived with his eyes were stashed, if Harry had gone through even a semblance of what occurred there. When he was questioned by child services and police in the hospital he was tight lipped about how he had ended up in that place, and was practically petrified about what happened in the building. He spoke yes, because his testimony that was recorded was added to those of the living children for the court case against the men and whoever else could be named involved in such pursuit. He didn't want to entertain such thoughts, he didn't want to delve so far into them that they consumed him but a part of him had to know but the more rational side of him knew that if Harry wanted, he would speak up and tell him, but he also knew that incidents like that were sometimes never spoken of. He sighed inwardly and pushed those ruminations away for the sake of what was going to be one of the greatest moments in his life that he would forever remember which was going to take place soon.

Looking down, Alfred stared at Harry for a moment before he crouched down, letting the image of the not entirely healthy, but getting there child take over his senses.

It wouldn't do to cry before the child who seemed so sensitive to emotions and didn't hesitate to cry even if he wasn't the one who was hurting. Alfred sometimes felt guilty, dirty to his very core for thanking god that he managed to save Harry. That the other children didn't matter because he saved his family, his grandson he didn't know he had, from the daughter he didn't know existed.

Looking at Harry he could see his daughter in him. From the lone picture he managed to retrieve from his source, the green eyes were the same. The same exotic, luminous orbs that his deceased daughter he never knew were passed on to the grandson he would cherish and treasure.

Giving Harry a hug which startled the boy, but Harry was never one to say no to affection and without delay returned the hug.

"Are you ready my boy?" He asked Harry, and felt him nod.

Pulling back, he straightened Harry's clothing, wondering if the ensemble was too much for the small boy just to meet his young master. Standing he knocked on the door to Bruce's playroom and pushed open the door to reveal a dark haired boy, with blue eyes and dressed in child slacks, and a dark turtle-neck sweater.

Alfred stepped into the room, Harry trailing behind him and closed the door after the two. Harry fidgeted under Bruce's stare and only stepped forward when Alfred introduced him.

"Young Master Bruce, this is my grandson Harry Evans." Bruce just continued to stare at Harry.

"Harry this is my young master, Bruce Wayne" Harry gave Bruce a wave and a shy smile.

Alfred smiled at Bruce, his baby blue eyes staring directly into the child's darker blue.

"I hope you two can become the best of friends, a friendship that will help the both of you as you grow older." Alfred smiled at Harry, and gave Bruce a small bow, before he walked over to Harry and placed a comforting hand on his slight shoulder.

"Be brave Harry" he whispered to the boy before heading to the door.

"I will take my leave and allow you two to get acquainted with one another. shall inform you both when lunch is ready"

Harry stared at the door that his grandfather had just exited before he stared back at Bruce who had yet to move, or say a word for that matter. He looked like a statue and it was making Harry nervous.

"U-Um… I-I'm H-H-Harry a-and… um… I-I hope w-we… we can be good friends!"

 **BH**

 **A/n:** People had been asking when the orphanage would be dealt with and here is your answer. I've read all of your reviews and each motivated me to write more so thank you all so much~! Cupcakes and Pizza for all!

There have also been enquires as to if Harry will be magical and I would like to give you all a hint as to if it's nay or yay but seeing as how I change my mind every second about stuff I can't even provide said hint. Sorry, you'll just have to wait until my brain gives me the finger haha :P Also the amount of follows and favourites has me like woah, you guys are brilliantly fan-fapping-tastic!

 **BlueRam** \- Just wow. That was a really really really nice review, which is saying a lot because the reviewers are all bunnies and lucky charms when giving me a review. Thank you so much for saying such words 3

Once again thank you all for your reviews and continue to R.E.V.I.E.W because it gives me powaaaa~! 0.o


	5. Realizations of the hopeful

**A/n:** Ahhh, thank you for all of your lovely reviews~! And oh my god the favs and followers is just wow. Sorry for the long wait I was doing a million and forty-seven things ugh. Anywhoo sorry for any mistakes to be found and enjoy the chapter people!

 **Warnings:** Bullying.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own **Harry Potter** or **Batman.**

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" **Stefan spat. "Oh, aye, he fell. O' course, Master Ralon helped him fall, several times. Poor li'l tyke didn't have a chance."**

― **Tamora Pierce** **,** **Alanna: The First Adventure**

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 _Chapter Five_

Harry didn't know what to do. He had offered a greeting to the boy over on the other side of the room and was only met with stony silence. He tugged at his waistcoat, fiddling with the hem of it before biting his lip. Peeking back up at Bruce who had yet to look his way after Alfred left the room Harry felt another wave of complete and utter uselessness surround him. He moaned inwardly at his dilemma as he wracked his brain for even a topic of discussion. Having read about social interactions books such as _Friends and Me, Interactions Among Us_ and _You, Me & My Peer: A Conversation For Those Who Don't Know How_, the information seemed as useless as he currently felt.

Was this supposed to happen? Were they supposed to sit in total silence while Harry felt the way he did and Bruce reading and simultaneously ignoring his presence? Was this normal? His thoughts drifted back to the orphanage where he sat by himself for years after the incident, watching the groups of children divided in ages laugh and tease one another. Play games and run around in groups and fun times that he wasn't welcomed to join. The topics were centered around escaping from the place, finding their mums and dads, getting adopted, getting better clothes, boyfriends, money, food. From his quiet observation the most common topic had been parents. The younger children like himself entertaining the idea of being adopted or their parents finding them, while the older years spoke about finding their parents and showing them that they made it _without_ them.

Harry decided that he would save that topic for last, the icebreaker of sorts. Moving away from the door he slowly crept towards Bruce who continued to ignore him. From the corner of his eyes he spotted a bookshelf filled with equal amounts of colourful books and brown, black, cream and red hard back covers. Looking back at Bruce who sat on his bed, head still buried in the book and then to the bookshelf once more he diverted and walked as quietly as he could over to it. Reaching out he grabbed the first book, looking at the cover _Finance and Industrial Management by Dr. Houston Quailford_. Harry wrinkled his nose and quickly place it back, why would Bruce read such a thing when even the title sounded boring. Picking out another book this one reading _Fairy Tales of Brothers Grimm: The Complete Edition_. Harry knew about fairy tales, having heard them being read every night from where he slept under the stairs. He snuck a look at Bruce and then he settled down and opened the book, marvelling at the white pages with swirls and vines around the corners with fancy writing for the first letter in large print. The first story being Cinderella.

It was times like these that Harry sometimes remembered exactly how much he missed out during his short years, the memory of how his cousin would get read to every night by his aunt, stories about dragons and witches and wizards. About princesses who were saved by princes on white stallions. About true love and fairy godmothers, about secret tunnels and adventures in the sky. Harry smiled sadly as he turned the last page of the story, he didn't have anyone to read to him, he learned by himself just as he did everything else. Peeking up at the other boy he jumped slightly when he found dark eyes on him, their gaze a bit confused.

Before Harry could stutter out something, anything, he found the book being snatched away from his hands and an angry gaze focused on him. Bruce reached down and yanked him up by his front, pulling on the material so hard that Harry feared the waist coat would come undone and buttons ruined. "W-wait!-" he yelped when his back met the wall he had been resting against previously, the dark gaze nearly blazing now.

"Who gave you permission to touch my book!" Bruce pushed him against the wall again, mouth set in a firm line. Harry shook his head and bit his lip. This wasn't how his first meeting with who Alfred called young master Bruce was supposed to go.

"I-I.. I just wanted to read it, you wouldn't play with me… so… so I guessed you wouldn't mind if I did read it and… I'm sorry" Harry mumbled. Bruce glared at him but in a moment or so he back off, picking up the book he had tossed carelessly and placed it back where it belonged.

"Why would I want to play with you? What made you think I would want to play with something Alfred picked up from the streets?" Harry flinched, his hands clenching making small fist at his sides.

"B-because Alfred said t-that we had stuff that would m-make us good friends! That we both loved to read and that we were both smart a-and that we both were a bit lonely because, A-Alfred told me that w-we're the same… that you're mummy and daddy are d-dead too j-just like mines."

He barely registered the pain until he reached up and wiped away the line of hot blood that ran down his face. He stared at Bruce in shock, the book that he had snatched from Harry's hands was now lying just a mere foot from his feet, the edge of the spine covered in a smear of red. His forehead obviously was bleeding from a cut, seeing as how if he touched anywhere on his forehead a spike of pain ran through his head.

"Why would you do that?" he quickly ducked when another book came sailing towards him.

"What do you know huh?! What would you know about losing parents when you were abandoned by your! Unlike you, my parents actually loved me, they took care of me. Yours just dropped you off at an orphanage and the only reason you are here is because Alfred decided to take you as a charity case!

You're nothing like me because I was loved and you weren't!"

Harry shook his head, his bottom lip trembling. He refused to cry, he wouldn't, he really wouldn't. "I-I sorry! I didn't mean to- I mean… I'm sorry" he scrubbed at his eyes refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was indeed crying.

"See! Nothing but a baby! Cry cry cry- cry for Alfred! Maybe he'll take you away, send you back when he notices how much of a cry baby you are!" Bruce sneered, his childish features morphing into a visage that scared Harry. Bruce picked up another book and threw at the the younger boy, the pointed edge of the cover hitting Harry's shoulder.

He didn't want to cry he really didn't but the tears seemed to be working against him. He apologised again, because that was what someone did when they angered another, he should know since he did it plenty of times back at the orphanage. But he wasn't there now, yet, he found himself falling into a similar routine in the short few minutes he spent in Bruce's presence. Alfred wouldn't send him back, because Alfred loved him, the man said so several times. Alfred was his grandfather and grandfather's didn't abandon their grandchildren right? Harry moaned and covered his head, the blood forgotten for the moment as Bruce threw book after book at him. He crawled away and yelped when the boy got a particularly large one just shy of his ribs. He didn't understand why this was happening, this shouldn't be happening. Alfred was so happy when he had introduced the two of them and now Harry had messed everything up.

"You don't belong here! Alfred should've left you in that place with your kind! Everything you see here is what my mummy and dad left for me! Everything is mine! Alfred is mine!" Bruce was practically screaming now as he picked up another book from the shelf to throw at the boy. He didn't care if it was wrong, if he knew that he was being childish but how dare the little street rat compare his parents to his own?! Bruce watched as Harry reached for the doorknob and a few moments later he scrambled outside and then down the hall. Bruce followed the boy with his eyes, watching as he stumbled and fell before picking himself up again, turning the corner and disappearing. He slowly shut his bedroom door and picked up the books he had thrown, none of the hard covers were damaged in the least. When they were all back in order he returned back to his bed and opened the page of his previous book, picking up where he left off. His parents may have taught him to give to the less fortunate but they never said anything about urchins.

Harry ran until the halls became unfamiliar and the warmth stuttered to a halt. He idly realised that he was in one of the vacant halls, the walls bare of any pictures and paintings and anything that would say someone occupied this section. He blinked up at the dim lights, wiping away the blood that was still trickling from his forehead. Twisting the knobs of the doors that lined the halls a few feet apart at each he finally found one that was unlocked, the interior dark and cold but all the same quiet. Stepping inside he looked around briefly before spotting the bed, sniffing he dropped to his knees and crawled underneath it, sneezing when he sniffed.

Cobwebs clung to his once pristine clothes and stuck to his hair in bundles, by all rights and reasons he shouldn't be under a dusty bed in a cold room in the isolated parts of the manor but drastic times called for drastic measures. Just imagining the look of horror on Mrs. Robin face at the state of his clothing and Alfred's look of disappointment was enough to send a fresh set of tears spilling down over his cheeks. He didn't want to cry, he really didn't but he couldn't help it.

Everything was ruined, all because he couldn't keep his mouth closed and act normal. Because he couldn't be a normal boy, with a normal personality and a normal intellect. Harry whimpered and curled in on himself, his hands fisting his hair and even the sharp sting of pain from the cut on his forehead didn't deter him from yanking on his hair. Biting his lip he made himself as small as he could in the tight space under the bed. All he wanted was to fit in, seeing as how Alfred had been so optimistic about him and Bruce the fact that it all went to hell made Harry want to scream.

It wasn't fair… why couldn't he be a normal boy like everyone else?

 _It was a rare event that anyone came to the orphanage to actually adopt a child. The matron who by now cared less about if a child died in it's sleep or while simply sneezing. She didn't care, but the children did. Harry had watched once as they all hurried about trying to make their clothing seemed at least less grubby and torn and awful. He was pushed and shoved until they all stood in a neat line while the matron motioned to the couple that looked like they took several wrong turns for them to end up in such a neighborhood and in such a place. They looked too nice and too polished and just overall too good to even be in a place. The woman was a beautiful redhead whose hair was done up in a complicated hairdo with twists and plaits and a pins, her eyes a pretty blue and her smile bright and sweet. The man was tall compared to the woman, a blond with grey eyes and a muscular stature. The children smiled their brightest smiles and tried to look innocent. Maybe they were, but to Harry they were horrible. Horrible children that pushed and shoved and stole his food when there was such little to ingest._

 _He watched as the couple found themselves enamoured with Suzie a blonde girl who was dumped their just four weeks before. Compared to the rest of them who had been there longer, she was in better condition. It was easy to imagine himself in Suzie's position. Smiling up at such lovely people and dreaming of big houses and three meals a day and hot baths and a warm bed, it was so easy and even at his young age Harry understood that they were just fairy tales, like the fiction his aunt used to read his cousin. They never came true._

 _It wasn't as if he had a big sign on his back that flashed 'hurt me, I don't care' because he had checked more than once. So he didn't understand why some of the children ganged up on him when Suzie was officially adopted and taken away. The little girl hadn't even looked back and said goodbye, Harry didn't blame her. If he were in her shoes he would've dragged his new mummy and daddy away like the building was on fire. They wouldn't see her again because she was one of the lucky ones._

" _My name is Harry not freak!" he knew better than to stand up again after he was pushed down. The ringleader whose name was Joel, a boy that was three years older than he was always seemed to find an excuse to shove his face in the mud or hit him with anything he could find._

 _Joel sneered and Harry glared back "Yes it is! your name has to be freak because of you I wasn't adopted! You did something weird and they looked past me and went for the blonde bird! What did you do you freak?!"_

" _Nothing!"_

" _Liar" as usual that seemed to be the signal for the other gaggle of children to hit him. Reflex was a wonderful thing and Harry appreciated it as he curled in on himself protecting his head and stomach as the dirty and ragged shoes connected with his body._

 _He didn't want to be there. He wanted to be far far away like Suzie. With someone who loved him, that would say those words and give him hugs whenever he wanted. He didn't want to be here anymore with children who made him the enemy because they were too afraid of the real monsters like the matron._

" _You did something! Own up to it freak! Own up to it like you did with Ginger's pet cat! What did you do to make them not chose me?!" Joel was a bully in every sense of the word, from his mean brown eyes to his large feet and hands for a child under ten years old. He always did the most damage, with either sticks or stones or glass he found._

 _Harry cried out when he felt the bite of something hitting his leg. Joel had a piece of wood, that looked like brand new lumber from the other street where they were building a new house, the wood perfectly cut and smooth looking. That very same wood was trying to break his leg._

 _He wouldn't cry, not this time. He wouldn't give Joel and his band of merry idiots the joy in seeing him cry. It only made them hit him harder anyway._

 _He didn't want to be here. He wanted to leave, to be with his family whoever they may be, whoever had enough room to love him. He didn't want to be here, why couldn't those people take him away with Suzie, why couldn't they have chosen him and loved him just the same?_

" _Freak!"_

" _Freak!"_

" _Freak!"_

" _Freak!"_

 _He wouldn't cry…_

" _Look he's crying! The freak's crying!"_

 _He knew that hurting people was bad, he knew how much it hurt to be hit and kicked and punched and thrown around like a bag of garbage, but if it would stop them, he would gladly hurt them back. If it would make them leave him alone, he would hit and punch and kick them right back but it was him against them. He was alone and he didn't want to be here anymore._

" _Leave me alone!" in one moment and the next the kicks and punches stopped, along with the biting pain in his legs from the piece of stolen lumber. Tentatively opening his eyes he found himself in the room they all shared as a bedroom, lunchroom and playroom. It was empty save for the crumpled figure in the corner who was beginning to smell. Harry thinks his name is Andy Miller, or at least it was._

 _Slowly standing he looked around, the amazement of what he did was dampened by the fact that it made him less than normal. Lesser than the children whom he shared the awful building with. Less than the matron and the men who brought them and took them away as they pleased._

 _It just made him weird. A freak just as Joel called._

 _He didn't want to cry, but he couldn't help it when he realised with clarity that no one could do what he just pulled off and that made him different. Different was bad, different wasn't normal. Not being normal was bad and to be not normal made you a freak._

 _He didn't want to be a freak, why couldn't he be normal?_

Bruce didn't understand why he was be dragged along with Alfred and a few maid to look for the big cry baby. It wasn't his fault that the annoying brat got lost and never turned up for lunch or dinner. It also wasn't his fault that they now noticed his absence either. He made no effort to be of an assistance, only keeping his facial expression to that of a worried kid concerned about his new friend. Alfred was certainly pulling off the expression wonderfully. The normally neutral and placid man had his white gloves off and stuffed inside of his pants pocket with his waistcoat undone, the jacket left back in the old library.

"Harry! Where are you my boy!" he didn't understand why everyone was making such a fuss. If he learned anything, it was that strays always found their way back when they got hungry and Harry was indeed a stray. A lost crying stray that alfred had taken pity on and brought him into Bruce's home because he felt sorry for the urchin. Bruce had no such feelings towards the boy.

They had reached the last wing of the manor and Alfred along with the small group of maids tested and checked every door and room until they found a door that was unlocked. Bruce watched as Alfred entered it and looked around. And with the flashlight the man had, he could see a pair of footprints in on the dusty carpet leading towards the bed.

Bruce never wished that monsters existed so much until that very moment. He wished that Harry had been eaten by one.

"Harry?" Alfred was kneeling now before he laid flat on his stomach, the long legs the only thing seen like a disembodied spirit when the man crawled partially under the bed where Harry was.

Bruce frowned and one of the maid pat his head, telling him that his friend would be okay. She misunderstood just why he was frowning but that was okay.

Minutes ticked by and finally Alfred shimmied backwards and Harry followed, both their hair was covered in cobwebs and dust, clothing equally so and so rumpled it made the maid on Bruce's left tsk. The moment he made eye contact with Harry the boy seemed to to shrink in on himself.

"Harry dearie, where did you get that awful cut from?" Ms. Robin asked, her hand reaching out to brush his hair from his forehead. Alfred frowned something fierce and cradled Harry's face within his large hands.

"Harry, where did you get it from?"

Peaking up at Bruce again, Harry lowered his head and shrugged, new tears prickling at his eyes making them burn.

"Harry" never had his name sounded like an order before.

"I fell, when I was running I fell down" he murmured, hiding his face in Alfred's shoulder when the man pulled him into a hug before lifting him off the ground. He practically feel Bruce's gaze on him as the head butler carried him back to his room to get a bath and a change of clothes before tending to the cut that had stopped bleeding a while back.

"Is what Bruce said true Harry?" Alfred asked when he was tucking the boy into bed later that night.

Harry looked at him, confusion present. "Bruce said you ran away because you missed your mother and father. Is that the reason why you ran and hid away?" oh how Harry wanted to tell the man before him no, how he wanted to tell his grandfather that his young master was a wicked liar who was the cause of his forehead being cut open but instead he just meekly nodded.

"Yes… it's true grandfather… "

Alfred sighed and placed a kiss on his hair, tucking the comforter around his body more securely before smiling down at him. Harry stared up at the man who was his grandfather, the man who rescued him from that awful place and from death. He knew the man for such a short time, yet the love he felt for him was staggering. To tell him that Bruce lied and hit him with books and told him such awful things would break his heart and he couldn't break someone's heart who helped fix his own a little.

"I love you Harry my boy… never forget that" Harry stared into his blue eyes before giving him a shaky smile when all he wanted to do was cry.

"I love you too grandfather" he murmured back. Alfred gave him another kiss before leaving, the light switch being flicked off and the door closing.

He wouldn't cry, he really wouldn't.

 **A/n:** I know it's a bit short, but I promise the next chapter will be longer. I just want to show their first interaction, even though some reviewers said they wished Bruce and Harry would become fast friends with Bruce being nice to Harry from the get go, and I contemplated it from that perspective but in the end my Bruce won out. It was like a mini battle between good and evil :P

Once again thanks for the reviews and the favs and followers and the communities bruh~! Hope to hear from you guys!


	6. Chew me up

**A/n:** Sorry for the wait, but this chapter refused to be written, sorry for any mistakes found. Thank you so much for the reviews, favs and follows! you guys are magical. Enjoy the chapter~!

 **Warnings:** Bullying, Suicidal Thoughts, Butchering of both fictional and real history.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own **Harry Potter** or **Batman**

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" **Bullying builds character like nuclear waste creates superheroes. It's a rare occurrence and often does much more damage than endowment."**

― **Zack W. Van**

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 _Chapter Six_

Harry should've known that once it begins, it never really stops. He never experienced it but he supposes from their point of view, the feeling of inflicting pain and hurt upon another must feel pretty amazing if they do it consistently. Harry rubbed at his arm and he knew that within a few hours it would be a pretty bruise. Another bruise and cut that he would have to hide from Alfred and Ms. Robins. His falls were becoming something of legends around the manor and everyone just thought he was just a particularly clumsy child who bruised like a peach at any given time. They weren't wrong, he did bruise easily but it wasn't because he was so clumsy that he tripped over his two feet on flat ground, but more of the fact that he had a shadow who pushed him down the stairs or into the edges of the tables or against the doors and walls. Bruce was his new personal hell.

Smiling was easy, just a sweet smile for his grandfather and Agatha seemed to wipe all worries and fears from their very beings and so he continued even though it hurt him to do so. He was still happy that he was not in the 'orphanage' any longer, that he had a warm bed to sleep in, warm showers and baths to take, that he had someone to tell him that they loved him and they meant it. That he got hugs whenever he wanted and he could read books from all sorts of genres without the page's been used for fire fodder or being eaten by bookworms and moths. He still got three meals a day, give or take if Bruce decided that his food was better thrown out the window than it was inside of Harry's stomach, but he wouldn't complain.

He couldn't complain.

Because if he complained then Alfred would be upset. The man who pulled him from that hell would become upset about the events going on under his very nose and Harry still did not want to test the strength of his grandfather's love if it meant that the older man would choose Bruce and not him. He wouldn't blame him if Alfred took Bruce's side and tossed Harry out, but he was afraid it would happen. Bruce was Alfred's life when the late master and mistress of Wayne Manor died. The boy along with his parents were Alfred's responsibility to care for before he even know Harry existed and a bond like that was powerful. Harry was just his grandchild that popped up because of sheer luck, compared to Bruce, his worth to Alfred wasn't even a comparison.

He was hiding in the library, wedged between a small nook at the very back in case Bruce decided to come and look for him. The book he was reading was interesting enough, since it was a detailed book about the Salem Witch Trials, it left out no gore and described each brutal murders with the names of the women and girls who were hanged or burned alive, a brief family tree for each along with the dates and places where they were murdered. The library was his haven. It had all of the worlds he wished he could disappear off too, the adventures he wanted to have, the friendships he yearned for and the peace of mind he only dreamed of.

He traced a coal drawn picture of a young woman whose hands were bound but her face was peaceful. ' _Luna Lovegood'_ it read in the corner, age sixteen. Even though she was about to be burned at the stake she was at peace. Maybe there was a special sort of peace that came with death, a peace that you had to accept because you had no choice. A peace that wiped away all the bad in the world and only gave the good when your life was snuffed away…

Harry wanted that peace. He wanted it so badly, but if it was a peace that came after death then Harry couldn't do it because then Alfred wouldn't be there. As much as he hated what Bruce was doing to him, every night Alfred would come and tuck him in and place a kiss on his head before telling him those three words he had only dreamed of back in the days of the orphanage and while he was staying at his relatives. The very same relatives he had yet to tell Alfred about in any way or form or description.

"Accipio te in amplexu semper tacet, aeternum est." Harry repeated the phrase until he no longer stumbled over the words and pronunciations. Those were the last words she had said.

 _I take thee into my embrace, forever silent, forever mine._

He wanted to be like the woman in the book, peaceful even when faced with death.

If he could stay in his little hideaway forever he would but he knew the time and schedule like clockwork now. The hours memorized by his body and he sighed playing with the pages of the book gently. It was almost time for his math lessons.

Another day, another memory, so he wouldn't complain. He couldn't. Any life with Bruce to torment him was better than a minute within that place. He could take the beatings, and the pushing and even the name calling, all for the sake of food and a warm bed. Looking back down to the book, he turned the page and flinched at the image which stared back at him with angry crazed eyes. The woman could have been said to be beautiful, and as he traced her features with a careful fingertip Harry would agree that she was.

High cheek bones, symmetrical lips and wide dark eyes. Her hair was curly and thick and it fell down her face and obstructed part of her view in black waves. To be frank if Harry was to meet a woman like the one drawn in the book he would be frightened. Even from the coal drawn features, her eyes held so much anger to the point that it looked maddening.

"Bellatrix Lestrange…" he murmured. For some reason he had no problem believing that the frightening beautiful woman was a witch, but not because of the madness, but from the aura and presence she created. His fingernail tapped the chained cuff that was around her neck, partially hidden by the dark curls. She seemed oddly dignified even though she was collared like a dog.

"A rebellion faction leader, said to be the left hand of the forces of the dark, the dark lord Voldemort… what?" he flipped backwards to the previous page and re-read the information on it, from the calm woman who was about to be killed, to the family trees and then flipped back to the page he had been on.

"This doesn't make sense… is this a fictional book?" turning the other pages he saw other coal drawn images of men and women, all collared with a tattoo of sorts on their neck peeking out above the metal collar. Carefully returning back to the page with the woman named Bellatrix he took a deep breath and sighed. There was no symmetry between the two pages, seeing as how the very first twelve pages of the book detailed the salem witch hunts and its victims, but from page thirteen it seemed to have taken a totally different route.

"Death Eaters." The word was bold and underlined several times. " The followers of the dark lord Voldemort who wrecked havoc upon the masses of magical britain. Lord Voldemort himself was said to be the most powerful wizard of all time, his only adversary was the light lord Albus Dumbledore." Harry snorted and raised an eyebrow. This was definitely a fictional book. Perhaps two books had accidently gotten placed together during manufacturing since the entire book was done in charcoal with the same penmanship.

The next page held a man whose hair had been left unshaded, presumably he was blond and Harry had never seen a more dignified man than the blond staring back at him with cold clear eyes. His head was held high, showing off the collar and tattoo on the side not with pride in them but with brimming pride for himself. He was named "Lucius Malfoy, the right hand of the dark lord."

He skipped a few pages, each with a face of another chained and collared person, with two more Lestranges, both men and others. The last page with a drawn face was with a middle aged man, handsome in every way with slanted eyes and thin lips. "Tom Marvolo Riddle the dark lord of magical britain"

He traced the man's features from his hair to his lips. "The dark lord's aim was to completely separate and then eradicate muggles (non magical humans) from within magical britain. He had Im.. Imperi...used. Imperiused three muggle girls from a village who then told villagers that witches had made them do the acts they had committed. The women that had been accused were jailed and a woman, known as a slave from the distant caribbean lands had confessed. She is also believed to have been imperiused. This then caused a wave of murders, those who were accused of being witches, mostly women were hanged and burned at the stake. The dark lord's plan was to show the wizarding world how the muggles would react to such knowledge, and despite the outcome he had succeeded in doing so when some two hundred people accused of being witches and dabbling is the craft were killed."

Harry turned the page, feeling unsettled. He didn't understand this book, was this an author's interpretation of the Salem Trials or - he shook his head. This wasn't real.

"Even though the wizarding world now saw how the muggles would react to their presence Albus Dumbledore convinced many that because of use of such magic, an Unforgivable, the dark magic clouded the minds of the good people causing them to act in such a way. And so the war amongst the magicals of Britain continued"

Harry tapped the word 'Unforgivables' and turned back several pages, just after Bellatrix's profile.

"The Unforgivables of the Wizarding World, known as the darkest of magic. The killing curse, a bright green light that once the victim is touched they are instantly killed. Avada Kedavra. The Imperius Curse, the ability to control a person's thoughts, actions and words, prolonged use may result in brain damaged upon the victim. The Cruciatus Curse, a dark curse that causes immense pain upon the victim. Incantations are Crucio, Imperio and Avada Kedavra" Harry murmured. He repeated the short paragraph again and again, letting the fictional words wash over him. The ability to control, cause pain and kill. He swallowed and returned back to his previous page.

"The war lasted several years, hundreds of wizards and witches perished at the hands of the dark lord and the light lord, and soon the wizarding numbers on britain dwindled. In the end both the dark lord and the light lord each delivered the killing curse to one another, each dying at the hands of their enemy… " wrinkling his nose at such an anticlimactic ending Harry turned the page and at the top read ' _ **Curses, Spells and Incantations'.**_ Just as he was about to begin reading just about the most far fetched historical fiction he had ever come across the familiar voice of Mrs. Robins caught his ears. Harry tsked and wiggled his way out of the tight space, looking left and right to make sure no one was around he tucked the book behind his back and inside the band of his pants where it was hidden by his sweater and undershirt.

He would keep the book not because he believed in magic, but because he had another world he could escape to.

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 **BH**

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Bruce's eyes narrowed when he heard Alfred ask Mr. Higgins his and the orphanage rat's mutual tutor. The man sounded much too happy for someone that had to teach a thing like Harry.

"That child is delightful Alfred. His mind… for such a young child he may very well be close Bruce's intellectual level. He understands so much for someone of his… ah… unfortunate antecedent situation. He is a quick learner and by all means he should be leagues below his current age level but… that boy's mind is to simply put it like a sponge. I had made a foolish mistake and gave him a worksheet for algorithms for another client and he handed it back in completed save for two or so mistakes. I believe he can be taken off of the training wheels now Alfred. He's sure to give Bruce a run for his money if he continues like this" the man laughed loud and jovial, while Alfred joined in. Bruce sneered and walked away from the door before one of the older men could notice his presence, even though it was his home and property, Alfred frowned on eavesdropping.

Why couldn't the little rat just stay in his station? Stay where he belonged? Was it so hard to just be nothing when you already knew how?

He growled and stormed inside of his room, slamming the door as soon as he entered. Grabbing the cell phone, the newest and latest model that was on the market he quickly swiped down in his contacts until he found one of his closest friends. Gregory Quentin had been his friend since diapers, and even though his parents had disapproved of the boy many times over Alfred wouldn't dare deny him his happiness. It wasn't that Gregory was a bad kid, he just had a mean streak which got a bit too aggressive at times, but it was all play.

" _ **Hello?"**_

"Tell your mother I'm coming over and I'm bringing the thing that's been smooching off my money along"

" _ **Aw man, do you really have to bring it. What if it gives my baby sister something with its germs?"**_

"Don't be an idiot, Alfred had it checked over for any nasty stuff."

" _ **Mhmm, I still don't want it over here. Why are you bringing it?"**_

"Because Greg, Alfred wants _Harry_ , to fit in and be friend with me. My friends are his friends, we have to make him feel welcome don't we?"

Over the line Gregory cackled and Bruce smirked before hanging up. Tucking his cell inside of his pants he retraced his steps until he found Alfred who was now leaving the study room, his expression one of happiness and pure joy. Bruce had to school his features carefully not to sneer at the fact the rat had caused such joyful bliss on the butler's face. So what if it could read and write, he could too but he never received any acknowledgement over it.

"Alfred." baby blue eyes peered down at him and the excitement on his face tempered down quite a bit until his expression was more neutral than anything else.

"Yes young master?" Alfred straightened his jacket and brushed away imaginary dust from the middle.

"Can I go over to Gregory's today? I had promised him I would come swimming after the pool finally got cleaned, his mother also said Harry could come along as well" normally Alfred would be leery of letting Bruce go off in the middle of the week during his lesson period but by including Harry. Alfred pursed his lips and Bruce felt a moment of doubt that the man would refuse but then the butler nodded even if he looked a bit reluctant. Holding back from rolling his eyes she placed a bright smile on his face. Like he said Greg was harmless, adults were just stupid at times.

Lunch was a quiet affair with Alfred gently telling Harry that Bruce had invited him to his friend's home, and Bruce had delighted in seeing the look of horror in those green eyes before the little rat forced a smile on his face and thanked Bruce with shaky words. He simply nodded back, a smile on his face as well that Alfred took in with a warm look on his face.

"Anytime Harry, we _are_ friends aren't we?" he watched as Harry chewed on his bottom lip, his head jerking in a parody of an affirmative nod.

Bruce looked to Alfred again and if the man only knew what he had in store for his dear Harry he would wipe that look of joyful bliss straight from his face. But he wouldn't know because Bruce would never tell him and Harry as much as a pain he was to look at, had brains behind that messy hair and skittish eyes. He would never tell, not even if Bruce decided to hold him underwater and count to one hundred and fifty.

Two hours later found them packed into the family car which was now considered a joke since his family was buried six feet under. Close to forty five minutes later found them on the other side of the city in one of the richest neighborhoods in Gotham. Each house pristine and painted with fresh coats of paint, front yards flawless with giant trees and rose bushes decorating the front gates that had a path of smooth stones leading straight to the front door. The maid was already waiting and she waved at Alfred who smiled back. He gave them both a look to be on their best behavior before the driver drove away and his promise to be back in a few hours for them to arrive back home in time for dinner. The maid let them in and took their bags with extra a change of clothing before leading them to the pool house where Gregory and two other boys sat on lounge chairs with the newest swimwear shorts on.

Bruce walked over to them and the boy immediately like flies to honey launched themselves at him, clapping his back and grinning. His other two good friends Alex Stanway and Francis Delaware had been filled in by Gregory, each boy a year older than Bruce but all of them were roughly the same height. For at least an hour or so he forgot about the little slimy leech that was using his home, money and food like it was his own until they heard a splash at the corner furthest from their end of the pool. Looking up he saw what looked to be the new pair of sneakers Alfred had bought the leech to be the cause of the sound with one of them bobbing up and down in the clear water. Harry caught his eyes from where he had been trying to reach it without going into the water and Bruce grinned turning away from the pathetic sight in such a lovely place. Stains came in every shape and size it seemed.

"Let's play a game boys. It's called guppy" the boys gave him a confused look and he rolled his eyes good naturedly.

"Let's see how well the little guppy over there can hold his breath. I mean he is a pretty useless and inbred fish. We should make it our mission to help him reach his full potential shouldn't we? Afterall we're his friends" he grinned when the three others burst out laughing and slowly they separated, two going left and the next going right so that Harry could escape.

"Is that the new pair of converse Alfred bought you recently Harry? He'll be mad if he realizes that you ruined them so quickly. Water damages shoes you know" Harry jumped almost slipping in the deep end of the pool from where he was laying flat on his stomach one hand reach out to grab the bobbing shoe that was beginning to get waterlogged and sink. Bruce watched him stand, and from where they had him boxed in all it would take would be two steps back for him to fall in.

"Want me to help you get it back Harry? I promise I won't tell Alfred that you're an ungrateful leech who wastes my money and his which is… you know what it's still mine." Harry cringed and his cheeks splashed with colour even if his eyes were defiant.

"I'm not ungrateful! I was trying to take them off b-but it slipped from my hand and then I tried to reach it but then it fell into the pool but I can't-" he bit his lip and swallowed but Bruce already caught on and as quick as lightning he reached out and grabbed the front of the tee-shirt, folding his hand around the neck of the shirt.

"Can't you swim dear _Harry_? Such a shame them, but of course this might be the first time you've ever seen a pool up close. It's been a first time for so many time for you hasn't it _Harry_. First three meals a day, first time of having your own bed, first time in having new clothes, first time swimming" Harry didn't have time to try to remove Bruce's hand from the collar of his shirt when he found himself being pushed backwards and he yelped only to be pulled forward again.

Bruce laughed and pushed him again, the collar of the shirt stretching from the constant push and pull movements. He stepped forward causing Harry who was now gaining more and more fear in his eyes to step backwards.

"Do you want me to teach you how to swim _Harry_? Our friends will help you as well. Don't you want to get back your shoe?" said shoe was sinking now and Harry whimpered, his hand tugging at his shirt trying to get it out of Bruce's grip. Bruce pushed him again and Harry screamed when the older boy leaned forward with him to push him closer to the water.

"Stop! Stop!" Bruce and the other boys laughed. "Stop what _Harry_?" every time his name passed from Bruce's lips it was as if the boy was tasting a nasty medicine, his name sounding vile and horrible enough that it had to be spat out.

"We're your friends, all we're trying to do is help you get your shoe back, but we don't want to get in the water yet so you'll have to let us give you a helping hand!" he pushed Harry again and stepped forward until the only reason Harry was still standing on the white tiles was because of the hand around his shirt collar.

"I can't swim! Please Bruce stop it! I can't swim!" the boys laughed, their voices bouncing off the walls of the pool house as soon as Harry began to cry, his pleas and tugs being drowned out in place of laughter.

"You want me to stop?" Harry nodded frantically and Bruce plastered a neutral look on his face. "You want me to let go of your shirt?" Harry nodded again but quickly shook his head when he realized where he stood. "N-No! I don't Bruce please don't-" Bruce smiled all of a sudden, a wide stretch of his lips that showed all of his teeth.

"Too late" his hand unfurled from around the stretched shirt and he felt Harry try to grab his hand a moment too late. It was like watching a video in slow motion, he saw the betrayed look on Harry's face that was tripled by the look of fear that clouded his eyes, his scream was loud and long even if the fall was short and his hands reached out before he was engulfed by water, the splash he made wetting Bruce in the face. Watching the newly dubbed guppy break the surface was amusing to watch. His tears mixing with the chloride water and his face red with panic as he tried to hold onto the side of the pool. Everytime he grabbed the sides Bruce stepped on his fingers until he let go and went back under only to break the surface again with a gasp. He was pleading now again, wet pleas that were interrupted when his feet couldn't kick hard enough to hold him up above the surface.

"Want me to help you Harry?" he crouched down and held out his hand but pulled it back when the tips of his fingers brushed against Harry's wet ones. "Oops you missed. Try again" he was taunting the boy and Harry knew it too but the fear of drowning was far greater than any dignity he held onto. After the fifth time he grabbed a hold of the clammy hand but instead of pulling him up he allowed Gregory to replace his helping hand with a hand to the hair.

Harry yelped, though it sounded more of a gurgle and Bruce idly wondered just how much water the idiot of a guppy swallowed. Instead of holding onto the sides of the pool Harry now held onto Greg's hand that was joined by Alex's in his hair. Bruce himself had found a dry spot with a wonderful view nearby on the lounge chair that Francis had brought for him. With the two of them they held Harry above the water by his hair alone and just like that they dunked him with the only support being his hair that Bruce had heard the naids gush about on several occasions and Mrs. Robin fawn over as she was brushing it. He wished they ripped away several chunks from his dirty head.

He watched as the boy was dunked and held underwater for several seconds, the water being so clear that he saw how he struggled underwater, his bony hand grabbing at the two limbs that held him under and each time he was pulled back up his fear had amplified to something that made Bruce shiver. He wanted to make the rat suffer, he was someone no, he was something that had no right in being allowed to take Alfred's time away from Bruce, something that had no right living in the house _his_ father and mother built for _him_ , had no right eating _his_ food, sleeping in _his_ bed in the room that was _his_ , he had no right existing beyond his parameters, he had no right to overstep his boundaries of life! He knew that Alfred would never return back the broken toy to that place since there was nothing to take it back to, but why did Alfred have to pick up such a stray? If the man wanted something to dote on more he could've at least pick up a dog from the shelter. Bruce prefered a dog over a filthy rat anyday.

"Hold him under longer, don't bring him back up until I say so" the two boys waited until Harry gasped in a huge breath of air for his burning lungs and Bruce was able to see how red his eyes were from the pool water and what he assumed were tears. His face was red and splotchy with the effort to hold his breath and his body shook. Bruce stood from his chair and crouched down next to the two older boys who held the struggling rat under, his limbs flailing and bubbles rose up and up until they popped. He was well under for over twenty seconds now and Alex looked at Bruce a bit uncertain.

"Shouldn't we pull him up now?" Bruce stared at the struggling boy and shook his head. "No, not yet"

Francis was manning the door, looking to see if anyone would come and interrupt them and Bruce had no intention of wasting even a second of what he was doing. It was well over thirty seconds now and more bubbles escaped from the boy's mouth. Bruce chuckled. The rat was becoming frantic now.

"Bruce common, I think he's about to drown or something" Alex tried again but Greg snapped at him to shut up, his hand tightening in Harry's hair. Bruce watched as his movements became a bit aborted, jerks of his body and limbs and with an annoyed sigh he told them to pull him up and out of the water. He had such great friends because not once did they move to haul him out by the shirt, instead dragging him up and out then onto the tiled floor by his hair alone. He would give each of them something expensive for christmas. He observed as the bony chest jumped and like the nasty thing he was he vomited up water and parts of the lunch they had just shy of Gregory's foot. Bruce wrinkled his nose in disgust and didn't even stop Gregory when the boy aimed a well placed kick to the heaving chest.

"I told you that you shouldn't have brought him! Look what he did to mom's floor! What if he really has something that your stupid butler didn't find!" Bruce shrugged.

"I'm feeling a bit hungry, aren't you guys? Let's go and see if the kitchen has any snacks" he was already walking towards the door, the other two boys following behind him. "What about him Bruce?" Alex asked pointed back towards Harry who was now curled in on himself.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at Alex, a frown on his lips. "What about it?" Alex licked his lips and shook his head.

"Nothing"

.

 **BH**

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He felt as if he had been dying. Under the water his hearing was muffled, the jeering from up above almost as subdued as he felt. He had been excited about the prospect of a pool, the Wayne manor having it's own but it was down for maintenance for a long time according to Alfred, so to see a pool and be in one was something he looked forward to… just not with Bruce. When he was held under it wasn't just the voices that had been quiet, but aside from the ringing in his ears and the thumping beat of his heart it was almost serene.

All that serenity had faded when his chest burned and he realized they weren't pulling him up, he knew he shouldn't panic, the documentaries and books had said that panicking could quicken the drowning process but he was scared. He wanted to scream, he wanted to be anywhere but under the clear water with people who hated him just because he wasn't born into money. For a moment he even wished he was back inside of the orphanage, at least there he was among his own even if for a small while until he was ousted for being 'too smart' and thinking he was 'too good'.

The urge to breathe outweighed everything else and his body seemingly worked against him when he opened his mouth and exhaled, unintentionally inhaling water. If he could whimper he would, he would cry for Alfred, for Mrs. Robins for _someone_ to help him, but he was under water and they could hear him as much or as little as he could hear the boys holding him below. So when he felt those hands that gripped his hair like a life line haul him up and over the edge he didn't know if he should thank Bruce or nourish that budding dislike that was blossoming in his chest every day.

But instead he vomited and received a kick for his good will.

His chest hurt and breathing only made the pain even more so prominent. He didn't want to move and his body was heavier than he'd ever felt it be before. Curling in on himself Harry cried wet and sobbing tears that rattled his chest and caused his body to shake. Things weren't suppose to happen like this, his life was supposed to be better with new friends and joy. Not with the one person his grandfather hoped he would be friends with nearly ordering his execution and allowing it to happen. He wasn't supposed to be afraid or hurt anymore, all that pain from his time in that mockery called an orphanage was expected to be behind him not shifting from pain stemmed by fear to pain stemmed by whatever it was Bruce had against him.

"I want to go home…" his breath caught in his throat and with a startling realization he had to acknowledge the awful irony of his situation. The manor was not his home. A home he read was a place that you felt loved and were cared for, a place you looked forward to returning to everyday. The manor was just Bruce's playground to torment him behind closed doors and around corners.

To be taken from the orphanage which was the only shelter he knew for years in hopes that the manor would be truly his to call home was such stupid wishful thinking. Such stupid stupid stupid hopes. Harry covered his head and ignored the spike of discomfort that ran through his skull. He was used to pain, but that didn't mean it got any easier, sometimes he wished that he was the bully, the one to make people cry and he laughed a bit before coughing. This wasn't the first time he had entertained such thoughts, the urge to be the one to inflict the pain and not feel any, to not feel the blows of words and abuse, to not feel the deep resentment for yourself after the hits had been dealt but instead being the one to deal them. Laughing again Harry bit his lip. That could never be him.

Somehow he had managed to pull himself upright and over to his extra change of clothes, his other shoe at the very bottom of the pool. It felt like hours before the other boys came back and by then his chest had stopped burning and he was a bit more composed, but that didn't stop the shiver of trepidation that ran it's course when his eyes met the dark blue ones of Bruce. The boys formed a semicircle around him and Harry could see what looked to be frosting on the side of Gregory's mouth. He avoided his eyes as well, the older boy was meaner than Bruce even if the youngest Wayne was the instigator of his pain he could see that Gregory seemed to glow in it.

"We just had cake with a mocha frappe or something. Have you ever had a mocha frappe you little urchin? I bet not" Francis snorted and Gregory sneered down at him.

"You're asking him if he ever had coffee flavored drinks before Delaware? I bet the boxers the butler bought him were the first he ever had. Probably used to wipe his ass with newspaper. What'd you eat for breakfast every morning eh urchin? What flavor garbage?" they all laughed and Harry swallowed knowing better than to give a response.

"I bet rat shit was his favourite. What does it taste like hm urchin. Tell us the flavour you get from your cousins shit" Gregory kicked his foot and Harry remained silent. Bruce he noticed was remaining present but didn't put in his two cents.

"Do you even know who your mum was? Or your dad? Or did you slide out from the sewer? That's where I hear all the unwanted bastards go when no one wants to pay to take care of them"

"Hey Francis what happens when floozy gets nailed by a drunken bastard?" Gregory asked. Francis pretended to think. "I dunno Greg, what happens?"

"A dirty leech slides out from between her legs. That's what your mum was wasn't she. A _whore._ "

Harry looked up for the first time since they came back and he felt anger replace the anxiety.

"What you don't believe me? You don't believe that the only reason you exist is because your mother had as much intelligence a dog in heat? That she opened up her legs for some guy who gave her fifty dollars for her body? That's what they do you know, the cheap ones sell their body for double digits" Gregory laughed and Francis laughed along with him while Alex looked to the side and Bruce just remain impassive.

"She was so stupid she didn't know that the good whores sell for more, just like my dad told my brother. I mean if she wasn't so desperate for money she might've sold for more, but a stupid floozy wouldn't know any better and look what it got her, a leech."

Harry knew that he shouldn't get angry, that whenever he responded their words would be replaced with fists.

"You're nothing but the by product of a floozy and a bastard and since your parents abandoned you, you just had to try and such the money from Bruce here. Blood sucker that you are you probably killed your mother from the inside out, maybe that's why she didn't keep you huh? Because you killed her"

"I didn't and don't you talk about my mother like that! Just shut up!" Harry stood up and in a move that surprised even him, he pushed Gregory. The older boy stumbled back and paused for just a few seconds and then Harry found himself back on his rump staring up into the angry face of the Quentin's middle child. Harry didn't flinch when Gregory's hand balled into a fist, his hand already raised. The hit didn't come though and Bruce glared at Gregory.

"If he goes back to the manor with a bruise on his face, what do you think I'll tell Alfred you idiot" Gregory yanked his arm from Bruce and spat on Harry, the gob of saliva running down his cheek before he could wipe it away.

"How'd you know huh? You never met her! She probably was glad to get rid of you, she didn't want you, your father didn't want you! Worthless disgusting rat!"

"Nothing but a bimbo!"

"She was more tramp than lady!" Harry didn't get the reference but the boys laughed and even Alex cracked a smile.

Just as Gregory was going to say something else the door to the pool opened and the boys dropped to the ground so it looked more like a group discussion than one of torment.

"Bruce, Harry dears, Alfred is here to pick you up. Come alone now." Mrs. Quentin was a round woman, shapely and had a kind face even if she had on a bit too much make up. Gregory glared at Harry as he got up and gathered his bag, feet bare with his lonesome shoe in the backpack.

The ride back to the manor was quiet, even if Alfred asked as many questions as he could about their day. Harry gave the man a smile and said he enjoyed it then afterwards falling silent.

The manor was not his home, and Bruce was not his friend. Alfred was only his grandfather until the man had to choose between him and Bruce and then ultimately he would choose Bruce who was his employer and charge given to him by his late master and mistress. He didn't want Gregory's words to affect him but he already knew the grand scheme of things he was insignificant when compared to Bruce.

.

 **BH**

 **.**

 **A/n:** Take note that while I'm leery of the dates and ages that pop up in my head when associating characters because my brain is an ever changing little shit, Bruce is roughly maybe about 11-12 years old, his cronies are 12-13 and Harry is 9-10 years of age.

I read all of the reviews and everytime my phone alerted me to a new email it was like christmas in June. You guys are awesome, like rainbows with confetti as innards.

 **BlueRam:** You are a darling, and I'm glad I was at least a little help in the motivation area, god knows I need some more when it comes to exercising.

 **MadameMcQueen:** I'm glad that you liked the approach I took. :D

 **Cereza101:** Ahh so many ideas~! So glad that I have you as a follower!

 **RaayJay:** Haha! You sound like an overprotective mother, no shade, it's just adorable~

 **The Flightless Girl:** You are a super reviewer it seems. Have a cookie you fab-u-lous rainbow.

As always feel free to leave your opinion on the chapter and let me know what you think~!


	7. Beyond the Veil

**A/n:** Sorry sorry sorry. Please enjoy.

 **Warnings:** Stuff and thangs.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own **Harry Potter** or **Batman**.

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" **Even death has a heart."**

― **Markus Zusak, The Book Thief**

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 _Chapter Seven_

Seeing it on replay over and over again was like having his finger nails removed with a tweezer. He hated that he would cry every time he dreamt of them, that he couldn't help but call out to the two people who no longer walked the earth and only breathed, moved, spoke and died on a repeated cycle in his mind.

Because they were no longer real, no longer here, only bones and dirt under the ground in the family graveyard.

He knew this, for four years since he had been left standing there alone and scared while his mother and father bled out in a dirty alleyway, had known that he would never see them again. His mother would never kiss him goodnight, hug him spontaneously simply because she could. That he would not be able to get a heavy pat on the shoulder from his father, see the pride in a face that would soon be his when he reached maturity.

He was an orphan on that night even before the bodies had cooled and the lead set in, before Gordon had pulled him aside and whispered condolences and before Alfred had flown in like a bat from hell and rescued him from the reporters that swarmed the scene with their cameras and so many question about 'How did your parents die, did you witness it, were you the cause of it' .

The funeral had been the nail in a very literal coffin as he watched the two caskets one dark red mahogany and the other a deep blue almost black, both held white ivory trimmings with such soft bedding.

He had hardly remembered the funeral, so many people had come to offer their sympathies, people he didn't know, still didn't want to but had a duty to for when he took over Wayne Enterprises. Grown men and women who had once ignored him beyond the courtesy compliments to him towards his parents just to endear themselves to them.

He remembered Alfred standing next to him, his presence though compared to a rock for Bruce to lean on had shuddered with suppressed tears at the very end. He remembered the caskets the best. Heavy and expensive and beautiful.

He had chosen them because they were his parents and they deserved the best and those were the best.

Reporters were there as well, the annoying flashes of light as soon as the funeral was over and his mother and father's final resting place was covered with the rich dirt of the earth, tasteful and colorful flowers decorated the tops and the choir that Alfred had hired continued to sing until the Priest deemed it over.

The moment he had stepped from the burial grounds despite Alfred and the police trying to stop the frankly frightening flow of what Alfred liked to call vultures he was still tugged and then dragged into the fray by one desperate and then labeled deranged reporter.

Afterwards he found himself in his bed crying his heart out on Alfred's shoulder while the butler whispered to him, the maids given leave until they were called back and only him and his butler in the mansion that suddenly felt too huge and empty without the presence of his parents there to fill it.

He had closed off their bedroom, the key hidden in his room so well that he would only find it when he was trying so hard not to remember.

He didn't want to forget them, he couldn't but to remember was almost as painful as watching it happen.

Whenever the anniversary came around he would dream about the man who pointed the gun at his trembling mother and pleading father even though he had been promised their valuables. Never before had he stared down the barrel of a gun until that moment, the fear was gripping and constricting and cold.

Then the trigger was pulled and his mother screamed before she fell silent, then it was pulled again and his father followed his mother and for a moment Bruce thought he would be next; a mantra of 'no no not me, I don't want to die' had boomed in his head or maybe that had been his heartbeat and his blood battling for first position.

The gun had still been smoking when it was lowered and he watched through clouded eyes as the shooter ran without the promised wallet, pearls and diamond ring with the matching gold band.

Then he was left alone with two cooling corpse, blank gazes and a pool of blood that was gathering beneath the soles of his shoes.

He had knelt in it, begging his mother to move and screaming at his father to get up. Minutes or hours later the red and blue sirens had flooded the alley and police after police came running. Gordon had hauled him off of his feet and away from the sticky blood that now covered his knees and hands trying to get some sort of answers from him.

He had wanted to answer he really did but they were right there, laying on the wet and cold ground with a bullet in their chests with their evening gown and suit ruined by the gaping hole and blood.

Every year he would see their eyes, colored dulled and empty and every year he would see their blood on his hands and sometimes the walls of his room. He could feel it between his fingers, in the odd webs of the digits and under the nails.

He'd then scrub his hands until they were pink and douse them in bleach, dettol and soap until Alfred pulled him away from the sink and harsh chemicals that only burned his skin. But at least the blood was removed even if temporarily.

And every year he wished that he had been killed along with his parents despite his wishes that night, because at least then he wouldn't have to be alone. Wouldn't have to suffer through watching his friends get showered with love from a mother and father while he only had Alfred and the nosy maids whom Alfred often said meant well.

If the man had just pulled the trigger for the third time then Bruce could have joined his parents in the afterlife and be happy.

He wanted to be happy, he wanted them back, he wanted to have his family with him again, to feel his mother's kisses and hear his father's laugh.

He wanted it back so badly that when the anniversary of their death came around, the window in the attic looked so appealing.

All he would have to do is jump and let gravity take its course.

He was nearly five years late but as his father always said 'better late than never son'.

Living was painful and though he knew he shouldn't cry over people who no longer had a body or a corporal form that had ceased to exist for half a decade, he simply could not. He tried he really did, but as much as he wanted to join them, to die and let it be over, he was scared to even do that.

Living was painful and hard but to die was frightening. Often enough he was tempted to take one of the sharp knives from the kitchen and slit his wrist vertically because that way the wound would bleed much quicker and be harder to stitch up, or at least that was what he read.

Or even his throat, maybe step in front of a passing truck or take his father's old shot-put balls with him when he went swimming to weigh him down.

But to feel the cold hand of death and know and be aware of it was too much.

He was afraid to join his parents, afraid to take that step and sometimes he envied them because at least theirs had been instantaneous said the coroner, that the pain may have felt like a pinch.

He wasn't living, just existing for the sake of his parents and partly for Alfred who had lost both a Master and friend the same day but mostly because he was too much of a coward to take the easy way out.

He was coping in his own little way with their deaths and it was enough.

Today would give the urchin a day of rest from seeing him at least, the younger boy nearly a constant shade of pale and a perpetual expression of fear on his face like a living breathing ghost.

Bruce rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling while his fingers clutched at the framed photo of his parents, both smiling and looking every bit of rich socialite couple.

His mother was radiant, a beauty compared to none or at least that was what his father had said, while she had always blushed before returning the favor and calling Bruce his father's 'tiny replica'.

He smiled, not bothering to wipe away the tears that clouded his eyes before rolling down his cheeks, knowing he would just cry again and irritate his already sore eyes. Hugging the frame closer not caring about how the edges stabbed him or how the glass creaked under the frame and his arms.

This was as close as he could get to his parents unless he ventured to their gravesite, a place that he hadn't stepped or looked upon since the funeral.

A part of him knew that both of them would be disappointed in him for what he did to the the street rat. His mother would probably have cried and his father frowning so deeply his forehead would crease. Who was he kidding, they would have been furious and he might've been punished until he was well over the age of consent.

But they weren't present were they.

His gaze shifted from the ceiling to the door for an instant, hearing Alfred's voice fade away in the distance.

Alfred would be angry at him too if he ever found out but Bruce didn't care. He had lost the two people that meant the world to him because of a thief who was trigger happy, a certifiable street rat who probably dropped out of high school and was a drug addict to boot.

It would be a bad joke if he lost Alfred to a budding addict of equal proportions.

He was doing Gotham a service actually, by nipping that bud before it bloomed since the last thing GPD needed was another crack addict, thief or crook roaming the city and disturbing people.

Turning on his side he tried to smother a grin of satisfaction.

He really hadn't expected the boy to break, not that he didn't want to crack open and see what nasty goo the rat was made of but he hadn't expected it to be so quick.

Nearly drowning had taken it's toll on the boy, many times a week he would wake up screaming so loudly that the first times Bruce jumped from his bed, alert and just a bit on the panicked side. Eventually he learned to drown out the sounds of bloody murder the boy seemed to emit.

Alfred and Mrs. Robins had no such luck however and every night like dutiful watch dogs they would clammer to try to calm him down.

Many a times he would see one of the maids take the bundle of sheets that smelled distinctly like urine away while another hurried over with a fresh set.

So not only was he weak but he was also a bed wetter. Bruce had hardly wasted anytime in taunting the boy the first time he noticed the nasty smell.

He had whispered it behind Alfred's back while they ate breakfast, had told him through the door while he used the bathroom, he even wrote it down on a piece of paper and left it on the bookshelf in his room for him to find.

The other boys joined in too making a game out of it called Harry Hunting.

When Harry had been held under Bruce had seen the look of absolute terror encase the boy's features and for a moment, a very very long moment he considered letting the rat drown; to make it seem like an accident and to order the older boys to act accordingly to finding their 'friend' not breathing and still.

But then he would have no one to play with. No one to make his dull life just a bit more exciting even if Harry was a smudge in his otherwise clean and pristine life.

Harry knew just as Bruce knew that if Alfred was made to pick between the two then he would choose Bruce within a heartbeat, and the knowledge was very obviously eating away at the boy who was so scared, so frightened of Alfred's young master and friends but even more so that he would be sent away from a big house, food and bed.

The last few weeks had been particularly bad nights for the boy seeing as how his screams had woken even Bruce that was a professional in ignoring the younger boy's pain.

His throat so raw from the constant wails that he had little to none, so hoarse and weak looking that the tutor had suggested they put his lessons on hold - and maybe if Bruce had begun to limit the nutritional intake for Harry just a bit didn't mean anything. The boy had spent his entire life digging through garbage and eating little to none.

If Harry missed breakfast or lunch or both a few days a week it would hardly do him a thing.

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 **BH**

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Screaming was a common occurrence in the manor now, every night like clock work the sound of screams so terrified, so desperate it would echo throughout the halls like a mournful ghoul and every night Alfred would pull himself from his own bed and run to Harry's side reluctantly.

Not because he didn't want to stop the screams that vibrated his bones, but the very sight of his grandson covered in sweat and unable to escape whatever nightmare that was plaguing him for those past few weeks.

Every night for those past weeks he would startle awake when Harry's screams almost seemed to pierce into his subconsciousness to drag him out of the restful slumber until he too was frightened of the assailant that was only known to his grandson.

The first time it had happened Alfred had lept from his bed, heart pounding and head nearly spinning as he ran towards Harry's room along with several other of the staff who had the very same panicked expression upon their faces. Who could blame them when he thought that someone was in the process of brutally murdering the youngest member in the manor.

They had all barged into the room to witness Harry seemingly fight off an imaginary enemy, his limbs flailing and hitting air while he hollered for bloody murder, face red and tears coming from his closed eyes.

After he had woken the boy and soothed him back into a restless slumber, the staff and Alfred had brushed it off to being a nightmare, then it happened the next night, and the other after that and the day afterwards.

Soon sleep was nothing but a fantasy for Harry and while Alfred was the one rushing to his side every night, at least he managed to catch up on it during his break or while Ms. Robins volunteered that she would take care of the daily schedule. Harry on the other hand was lucky if he could squeeze in perhaps three or four hours.

Alfred had seriously considered calling in a doctor or specialist, anyone that could stop the heart shattering screams that made Harry so hoarse the next morning that he could barely speak. If he was completely honest, he would say that Harry hadn't spoken in a long time, throat too raw to push anything verbal from it's depths.

He would also say that he felt so completely helpless about not being able to help his only living relative, that when night crept around he may have felt more scared that Harry did because it was another night, another agonizingly long minutes to wake Harry from the torture and then nearly twenty more to sooth him back down, to make sure he didn't throw up as he was bound too, to reassure him it was okay if he wet the bed during the night terror and to nearly have to beg him to believe him when he said he loved him.

Every night the doubt seemed to grow about just how genuine his love was for Harry, the boy staring up at him with wide tearful eyes that somehow showed him just how dubious his everyday declarations were. And if Alfred had believed that the screaming was the worst of the terrors, then he obviously was just a bit too optimistic.

"I'm sorry, I-I… I didn't mean to-" Alfred would just hug the boy until he calmed down enough to change his clothing while Harry was too embarrassed to even look Alfred in the eye and Alfred never mentioned the wet bed.

It became a system of sorts, a system that benefited Harry and worried Alfred greatly.

It was a system that _worked_ but he didn't have to like it.

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 **BH**

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He was hearing voices now, eerie sounds that were more whispers than actual spoken words. Some high pitched and teasing while others chastised him, telling him to stop being afraid and to take action.

Take action to what he didn't know. He brushed it off at first to the lack of sleep, another tick on the long long list of things he couldn't tell Alfred about because for sure he would be booted from the manor and into the loony bin. He'd heard stories about Gotham's asylum, horrible wicked things that the patients and doctors alike did, things he wouldn't do and wouldn't dare think about.

Alfred loved him, he knew this, his grandfather would say it everyday to him so he knew but to tell him he was hearing voices would perhaps push the man over the edge. Already there were talks about him seeing a specialist to help combat his sleeping problems and to stop the constant nightmares.

But what could a doctor do but fill his bedside table with pretty pills and make him even crazier, they wouldn't stop the nightmares and he had told his grandfather this himself which prompted the man to ask _what will_.

He had kept silent because he couldn't very well tell Alfred; _Bruce_ now could he?

He knew how horrible he looked not just because of the mirror in his room but the maids sometimes forgot even though his voice was all but gone, his ears worked just fine. A large majority of the slight chub that had gathered on his body from the time at the manor had seemingly disappeared overnight in lieu of the dark circles under his eyes and a paler than pale complexion.

It was ironic how back at the orphanage he could sleep just fine though it was mostly to distract himself from the gnawing hunger that always clawed at his belly. Now was a big warm bed and heavy blankets, safe inside of huge walls and iron fences he couldn't find the energy to have a successful night rest.

Flicking open the page to the strange book he had found Harry ran the pad of his fingers over the well drawn coal features of the woman on the page, her name coming to mind without a glance at the index.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

She still scared him though, and often enough she reminded him of Bruce, so much anger in her dark eyes that even though he knew she had no reason to hate him he felt as if she would lash out at him just for looking. But even if her eyes were filled with barely contained animosity and she frightened him he still thought she was beautiful.

If he was to have a mother he'd like her to look like Bellatrix… just not as terrifying.

 _You think I'm beautiful?_

And there was the voice again. Feminine and high pitched. Harry gave his room an almost lethargic glance, looking into every nook and cranny for the ghost that decided to haunt him from a whole household of people.

 _You never answered my question boy. You think I'm beautiful?_

Was he supposed to answer? Was it rude to not answer the voice in his head that could still very well be a ghost?

 _I'm not a ghost you idi-darling boy_

Harry jumped, distracted from the poorly covered insult of the woman ghost when the pages of the book turned on their own. His window though open held no wind but here he was sitting on his bed and the pages of the book turned as if someone was just leafing through them and stopped at the image of Lucius Malfoy.

 _Ignore her boy, and stop slouching or you'll have a back worst than a hunchback by the time you're twenty years of age._

Harry blinked slowly down at the coal drawn picture of the man, staring down into the eyes that were left uncolored just like the hair.

"E-excuse me?"

He half expected the image to move, the mouth to contort into a grimace and the eyebrows to furrow but nothing happened.

 _Are you deaf as well child? I said to sit up straight!_

And sit up straight he did.

 _Very good. I knew you were not a complete dunce. Now if you will-_

 _Lucius stop being such a hog!_

Harry stared in alarmed fascination as the pages turned back to Bellatrix's picture.

"A-are you… a-a g-ghost?"

The book vibrated as if someone was laughing and maybe they were. Maybe he was asleep and was talking aloud from his dreams and Alfred was beside him laughing. Maybe he was-

 _Well I'm dead aren't I, so maybe I am. Does being burned alive make you a-_

It went back to Lucius and Harry could hear the scowl in the man's voice as he snapped something sharp and insulting in a strange language.

"What sort of… what kind of language is that you're speaking sir?"

 _Latin. Are you interested in learning Harry?_

"I suppose I am but-uh.. how do you know my name?" his voice was barely reaching a rasp and he heard who he assumed to be Lucius because why not, tut while he had one ear on the book and the other on the door.

 _We know a lot about you Harry, more than you know. But don't worry, your secrets are safe with us. Also I was informed to tell you that since we are not anatomically physical beings your thoughts on any matters are just as fine as words._

Harry dropped the book when it vibrated again, watching it tremble on his bedsheets in the most confusing blend of curiosity and suspicion.

" _So you can hear my thoughts then?"_

 _Yes, quite clearly._

" _All of them?"_

 _No, thank Merlin only the ones you intend for us._

And if he had thought that speaking to a dead man's image that was responding was weird enough, talking to a dead man's picture via his thoughts or was it telepathy even if the other person was technically dead for hundreds of years?

The pages turned back to Bellatrix and Harry leaned backwards when the book snapped closed then open again.

 _You never answered me duckling. You think I'm beautiful?_

Harry had never seen an irritated book before then again this entire day so far had been strange.

" _You are. Beautiful I mean, very beautiful"_

 _Awww such a lovely little ducky. Can I keep him Lucy? I'll keep you regardless what he say Harrykins._

The book was humming now, no longer vibrating with energy but simply exuding a soft tremor. It was almost as if it was content.

" _I… I have many questions but- but if you don't want to… I mean if you think that I - well if you-"_

Lucius was back in his line of sight now

 _Your train of thought is almost as ghastly as your posture. You may ask any question that comes to mind Harry and it shall be answered. You don't ever have to be afraid of us, we're your friends._

His eyes widened and he hunched in on himself until his nose was nearly touching the page and Lucius's face.

"F-Friends? Y-you want t-to be my f… friend? _My_ friend?" he had no voice left but he couldn't help but to try and say it aloud. To make it sound _real_.

The book stopped humming going still in an instant and for a quick horrifying moment Harry thought he had scared off Lucius and Bellatrix. Then it hummed again before quickly jumping to a vibration so strong he felt it from where he sat watching as Lucius's face was switched out for Bella's.

 _Of course we're you're friends Harrykins, your very best friends._

She cooed at him, and even though he was afraid Harry smiled because he now had friends of his own.

 _Shall we begin our lessons Harry?_

Harry smiled down at Lucius's face already nodding because as strange and frightening as it was at least he found an escape from the nightmares outside of his door.

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 **BH**

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 **A/n:** Sorry again for the long assed delay, just everything has been bleh and I was like meh. Or something along those lines. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and for the nice comments, and to those who pm'ed me asking about the fic, you guys know who you are.

A lot of people have been saying that Harry and Bruce can't fall in love. Anywho~

Someone even asked me if I knew what love was/have ever been in love. Yes, yes I have my dear.

Anyway! Until next chapter!


	8. There is only Death

**A/n:** Okay so people are calling for Bruce's head, understandable. Some are even wondering if Harry is going to be all forgiving at the rate it's going; once again fair point. A large majority even suggested this was going to be a Stockholm Syndrome fic and yea I can see where you would get the idea. Someone even said he's ooc, yea pretty much, sorry he isn't the canon persona you're used to.

Point in case? I read all your reviews and value your opinions even the ones that outright call me crazy and have declared quitting this fic. I apologize for any mistakes found as usual. With that said, enjoy this chapter… or y'know, don't C:

 **Warnings:** Stuff that may or may not upset you terribly.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Batman.

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" **Even death has a heart."**

― **Markus Zusak** **,** **The Book Thief**

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 _Chapter Seven pt2_

"Hurry up! Get him!"

"He's getting away you idiot!"

He hated this game, he hated it as much as he hated deep bodies of water, as much as he hated the boys chasing him.

Harry Hunting they called it, as if he was supposed to be honored they named a game of torture after him. He stumbled but quickly gained back his momentum, this he was used to, running, being afraid.

He was used to it from the orphanage but under his grand-father's care he had forgotten just how horrible children could be and now here he was again, running.

He was wheezing now, every barely there breath appearing as a small white cloud in the chilly air. He knew he should never have wandered out of the manor, the boys knew better than to torment him within earshot of any of the adults but he felt cooped up.

Bruce's friends had been over for nearly two weeks now. Alfred called it a slumber party but when he glanced up at Bruce he knew otherwise. Apparently the three other boys were going overseas for the remainder of their christmas vacation but had wanted to spend some time with Bruce before they flew to warmer tropical climates.

Or in other words, they wanted to torment him before leaving.

He had endured it, close to fourteen days of constant teasing but limited physical assault since he stuck close to the maids or Alfred until they grew bored of waiting and crept off to do something else.

He stayed silent when at breakfast and lunch they stole his food, laughed at himself when one of them tripped him over and the maids called him clumsy but he had felt claustrophobic in the huge house as silly as that had sounded, so when they were occupied he snuck off outside for a fresh breath of cold lung freezing air.

For a long time he had stayed outside, under the gazebo just staring out at the white blanket of snow that covered everything and for the first time in many many winters he could appreciate just how pretty it looked. That may have been because he wasn't on the verge of dying from the cold in a shambled building where the rodents had more body fat than he did.

Then they arrived prompting him to run, they followed and the snow suddenly seemed much less beautiful and more hostile. The fresh air freezing his lungs and made his body numb.

He knew he was a long way from the manor, further than he had ever ventured and out of the sight and earshot of any adult. Harry yelped when he foot sank down a couple of inches giving Bruce and his cronies time to catch up by the time he pulled himself free.

"Look what we caught boys, a huge rat!"

"It looks a bit boney doesn't it Francis, maybe it's hungry, starving even"

Gregory snickered and Harry's eyes darted to Bruce because he was the one who always instigated the pain.

"He's used to that though aren't you Harry, before Alfred picked you up and brought you into my home you were used to feeling empty weren't you. Did you miss that feeling?"

Harry shook his head inching back when Gregory stepped forward. He hated this boy more than Bruce. Gregory Quentin loved to cause him pain.

Bruce frowned, tilting his head so that whatever hair wasn't tucked inside of the snow hate flopped to the side.

"Too bad for you then"

As always Alex looked nervous and Francis just looked about as ready as Gregory did.

"Guys come on, it's cold. Can't we do this another day or maybe inside?"

Out of them all he hated Alex the least because he could tell the boy didn't want to hurt him like the others. Why he was friends with Francis, Bruce and Gregory he didn't know.

Gregory scoffed, stomping over to Alex and being a good head taller than the boy he towered over him easily.

"I told you already that if you're willing to trade places with the leach then we'd be happy to help you y'know"

Harry watch Alex shake his head, his pale lips pressed tightly together and Harry knew he wouldn't be anymore help. Gregory turned to Bruce who looked bored for all the world leaning against the old maple tree that was bare of any leaves dead in the winter.

A simple shrug from the Wayne heir was enough of a signal for Gregory to land a quick and hard kick in Harry's side. Fast enough that he didn't have any time to roll away and hard enough that any breath he gained back was immediately lost.

Francis cheered and mimicked the boy, taking aim for his exposed side almost at the same time Gregory gave him another well placed kick to his left side.

"He's not squealing Greg, maybe we're not hitting him hard enough eh" Francis straddled his waist, his fist balled into the blue and grey jacket Harry decided to wear before Francis' free hand connected with his chest.

Harry knew his pleas were falling on deaf ears as they always did but it still didn't stop him from trying from asking Alex, from begging Bruce.

His body hurt, burned, ached and every other synonym that meant pain. Closing his eyes helped sometimes, to not see them gave him a bit of reprieve even if he knew they would still be there over him, hitting him, he could pretend.

They were as careful as always to only hit him below the neck, where clothing could hide the fresh bruises and the fading ones, honestly he didn't know that bullies could be so smart.

Then again the only bullies he had to compare them to were desperate and terrified children that were just as worst off as he was. Poor bullies compared nothing to Rich ones.

His scarf was pulled from his neck, a chill instantly taking place over the warmth.

"You idiot! You hit him where someone could see!" that was Gregory's voice.

A small voice in his head, one that was always sarcastic and mean even during his orphanage days pipped up muttering that these people were going to be adults one day, running people over with their expensive cars and getting off with a few thousands dollars fine for near murder.

"He moved! It wasn't my fault!" and that was Francis' voice.

Harry opened his eyes, peeking up at the two boys standing over him. Gregory was inches away from Francis' face, a look of pure anger coating his features while Francis just looked defiant.

"What are we gonna do if someone asks him about it huh? He bruises like a peach and you hit him above the collar line!" Gregory punched Francis just to emphasize his point making the other boy yelp and flinch away incase he was lashed out against again.

"Then… we just make sure he doesn't! Bruce can tell his butler that we saw the urchin run off with a book in his hand or something right Bruce?"

Harry turned his head to stare at Bruce as best as he could without drawing attention to himself. The boy shrugged after a long moment of what might've been contemplation.

Francis cheered and punched Gregory back in the arm "See! We won't get caught!"

Gregory didn't look pleased but seemed to concede since Bruce agreed in his usual manner. Harry always thought that the Wayne heir almost never gave a verbal affirmation because if he was asked about anything concerning the bruises and cuts on Harry then could lie by telling the truth.

"So how are we gonna shut him up then? The butler will be waiting on his when we get back inside to take the coats and stuff. He's gonna see _that_ "

Harry didn't know if the sneer on the boy's face was directed on what he could guess was the darkening bruise or if it was thrown in his general direction, what bothered him was that all their attention was returned to him.

"He won't say anything 'cuz he knows that if he does then when we get back from vacation he'd just-" Alex ducked his head at the dual glare from Gregory and Francis alike, shrinking backwards by a few steps.

Harry stared at the boy from where he laid, a new sense of gratitude no matter how weird and perhaps misplaced it may have been. The boy had tried to help him again, not that it worked but he tried and if he could without getting them both beaten to a pulp he would thank Alex.

"Don't be stupid Stanway, he'll squeal on us the first moment he gets"

"We need another plan, if you don't help Stanway then we'll have to think about your position in this group later on"

Gregory tsked, turning around in a circle a few times then stopping, his head tilted to the side as he stared at something in the distance.

"Is that an old shed over there Bruce?" Francis, Bruce and Alex crowded over to look in the direction he was pointing in.

Bruce shrugged.

"Maybe, but I doubt the door will be any good, the groundskeepers don't tend to this side of the house much"

Gregory grinned and Harry felt dread fill his belly. Normally he would aim to stay as still as possible until they were finished but despite all the names they often called him he wasn't even close to being as stupid as they thought.

So while it may not have been a good idea to try to run, he saw no choice in _trying_. Scrambling up he knocked Delaware's legs from under him, the boy yelping and taking down the two closest to him in an effort to stay upright. It just so happened those two were Bruce and Gregory.

He heard cursing behind him but that was the whole point of basically signing his death warrant for knocking the boys down. _Getting away_ was the motto of the day.

"Get back here you little fuck!"

Harry was panting already but he guessed that was what he got for enduring having his meals stolen from him.

"We should've drowned you back then you little shit! Stop running and we'll make it easier for you!"

If anything Harry only panicked more, looking back he saw not only Quentin, Delaware and Alex were behind him but Bruce was in pursuit as well, the boy's face contorted in fury.

Harry felt like crying when he realized just how far away the manor was, his steps getting increasingly more difficult as he went on. Fatigue and ankle deep snow worked against him and soon enough he felt something hard and heavy crash into his back.

"Gotcha! I got him Gregs!"

"Lemme go!" he never spoke back, having learnt since the orphanage that it only fueled them on but to be placed in a garden shed in the middle of winter was good well as dumping him back in Wool's.

"Oh ho it speaks guys!" Francis shoved his face into the snow, knocking the hat from his head in order to grab at his hair.

"I won't tell I swear! Bruce I won't tell! I won't tell! I won't please don't-"

"Shut up!" he got a mouth full of snow for his efforts and he coughed spitting out what hadn't melted. Swinging his arm back Harry felt a deep satisfaction when his elbow connected with the middle child of the Delaware's, the boy crying out in pain and holding his face.

"It's fighting Franny! It must be really scared now huh, it never did that before. Normally it's so… quiet."

Gregory replaced Francis on his back, dodging another one of Harry's bony elbows instead taking the arm and twisting it behind his back. This time it was Harry's turn to cry out and he stopped moving when he felt the muscles in his arm pull and the bones hurt in a way that made him go still.

"I should break it y'know, you wouldn't die, and when we come back for you you could tell dear ole' Alfie that you tripped over a stone hidden under the snow that made you land wrong yea?"

"I'm s-sorry! P-please d-don't b-break my arm please!" he was crying again, the tears not nearly as warm but nearly as cold as he felt lying in the snow.

"I like it when he begs, almost makes me think he's human. What'dya think Bruce?"

Bruce crouched down, and like a dog presenting it's master with a kill Gregory pulled his head back so that Bruce could look directly at his face.

"Don't get me wrong, I rather be inside at the fireplace watching tv or something but I'm trying to be a good person here. You obviously have some delusions about your place here, about the bed you sleep in, the food you eat, about Alfred, and I'm just trying to save you the heartbreak when you decide to tell him on us."

"I w-won't I-I p-promise"

"You will if we let you go now, but let's make a deal Harry. If you stay inside of the shed for a few hours we'll come back for you before anyone notices you've gone missing."

"I-I d-don't want t-to ple-please Bruce I-I don't want t-to"

Harry watched as Bruce frowned, his black gloves making random doodles in the snow as if he only had half his attention on Harry at the moment.

"Yea well, you either go now and agree to the deal or we leave you in there until nighttime and wait until you're asked about before telling them where we 'saw you head out to'. Do you really want to revisit cold nights where you couldn't even feel your toes, or maybe you'd like that since Alfred fawned over you so much"

"What's it gonna be huh freak? A few hours or until night?"

Harry nodded his head and Bruce smiled.

"Good boy. If things were different you would've made a great dog hmm, too bad you turned out to be a rat"

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"Let me out! Please let me out!" Harry pounded on the wooden door that was stiff with ice, the hinges barely moved when they had forced him inside and locked it again from the outside.

That had been hours ago, the dim rays of sunlight having faded to nothing and the cracks between the wood showing no light outside.

"Please!" what little voice he had regained was long gone but he couldn't stop, maybe someone would pass by and help him, to get him out.

"Please… somebody" he couldn't cry any longer. His eyelashes were frozen and his tears had begun to harden on his cheeks when he realized that Bruce had indeed forgotten him.

Pushing himself away from the door he tried to avoid touching the old gardening equipment that littered the shed, the metal so cold it felt as if it was burning through his gloves and clothing.

Grabbing an old burlap sack he had found stuffed behind a few boxes of bird seed and dried up flowers. Resting it on the ground so that he wouldn't have to directly come in contact with the frosty ground Harry tucked his hands under his arm and huddled himself tight.

He wouldn't die. Alfred or Mrs. Robins would find him and take him inside with a big cup of cocoa.

This wasn't anything like the orphanage. He would be saved like the first time around and Alfred would give him a big hug and a kiss before he was sent off to bed.

There would be no rats or mean children or no horrible matron that sold them to adults.

He would be back in his big cozy bed that Alfred had presented to him, he would snuggle under the comforter and fall asleep on the soft pillows.

He wouldn't have to sleep on newspaper or be thrown in the backroom where all the illest children were sent to die.

He would wake up to a nice breakfast and listen to tell him tales about her children and grandchildren and about hot-air balloons and France. Alfred would smile and top off his orange juice without asking because he was a growing boy and growing boys needed their vitamins.

No more cold, and hunger and fear.

Just Alfred.

Harry blinked, not knowing he had closed his eyes. He was cold. His teeth had long stopped chattering.

He was numb.

Jerking himself awake again Harry tried to blink but his face felt just as numb as his legs, arms and bum. A small part of him whispered not to sleep, he knew that he shouldn't fall asleep.

Alfred would find him soon and he didn't want the man to have to lift him all the way back to the manor.

… But maybe he could just doze until his grandfather came.

Sleeping would take his mind off of how cold he was, off of how hungry he had been.

He wasn't going to die just sleep, so he ignored the voice that whispered _yes you are_.

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" _Master. Wake up Master"_

 _Harry groaned and reached for the pillow that always ended up beside him only to fall. He screamed, scrambling to grab a hold of something anything before he could fall and hit the ground before he died._

 _Opening his eyes Harry stared at the darkness around him and he wondered if it was still night time but normally his night light would be on._

" _Master"_

 _Spinning around Harry searched the pitch black surroundings looking for the owner of the voice._

" _I'm no Master, just Harry. Are you looking for Bruce?"_

 _Turning again he screamed when the area seemed much less darker than it had before the tall figure of a person appeared._

" _W-who are you? What d-do you want?"_

 _Looking up into the void where the face should have been that seemed to be composed of the darkest dark he stepped backwards._

 _The figure didn't move nor speak for a long moment and Harry could almost imagine the minutes tick by, then his face was being cradled by a boney hand. His breath stuttered in his lungs and he froze staring wide eyed into the obscure._

" _Oh Master, what have they done to you"_

 _Harry continued to stare, not daring to move._

" _More broken than the last, more scared than before."_

" _Do you want to stay, or do you want to go this time around Master?"_

" _W-w-what?"_

 _The skeletal fingers rubbed his cheek. "Do you wish to stay or pass on"_

" _P-p-pass o-on w-where?"_

 _The cloaked darkness tilted its head and for the first time since their meeting Harry noticed he couldn't tell if it was male or female._

" _Does my form still frighten you Master, yes yes it just might. Present you have no memory of me as Past you did"_

" _You n-not making any sense!"_

 _The hand on his cheek grew warmer and the fleshless bones filled out until they were pale fingers attached to a slender arm and a beautiful face. Harry stared at the red-haired woman before him, brilliant green eyes and a dimpled smile._

 _It was like staring into a mirror and seeing his own eyes._

" _Do you recognise this woman? Her body?" the voice was definitely female now, sweet and soft as the hand caressing his cheek._

 _Harry shook his head._

" _Did you not know your mother in this life either Master?" he saw his reflection in the green pools, shock clear on his face._

" _M-my… my m-mum?"_

" _Yes your mother. I take from your reaction you have no memory of her then."_

 _The woman seemed to sigh and her features morphed and shifted until Harry was staring at himself, a near perfect replica that had dark eyes instead of green and an expression that could only be described as a poker face._

" _What… what are you?"_

 _His doppelganger tilted it head. "I am Death."_

 _Harry's eyes widened. "What do you want with me? I'm not dead so why are you here?"_

 _A sliver of pity shone in it's eyes, the hand now the same size as Harry's reached forward and placed it's palm on his chest._

" _I only appear when called. When the cord of life has been cut, when the heart has ceased and the brain has stilled. When the soul has given up and the body cold. I am here because you called out to me Master"_

" _I'm not dead! I'm waiting for Alfred to find me! S-sure I may be a bit cold but… but I'm not dead! I'm just asleep…I was just sleeping… I'm sure of it- I'm sure."_

 _Harry looked into the depthless gaze "Aren't I?"_

 _Death shook its head, tapping Harry's chest once with its childlike finger and suddenly the simple warmth turned cold, chilling, numbing._

 _Harry gasped, his hands wrapping themselves around him as if to stave off the coldness. The air seemed to have been reduced to nothing and his lungs couldn't find space to expand, he was gonna die, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't feel anything and he was so cold it hurt._

" _I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die!"_

 _Death touched his chest again and the cold disappeared as if it had been a simple wind. His breath returned and the thousand mile darkness around him was warm again, but Harry could only stare at the being standing before him a deep pain pulsed in his chest because he wasn't asleep._

 _He was no longer in the shed asleep and waiting for his grandfather._

 _He was dead._

 _He had died._

" _H-how… " he knew how he died, it was obvious but to hear it from what was the God of Demise was another._

" _You froze, your body temperature dropped, your body went into shock. Your heart stopped and your brain discontinued its functions."_

 _He nodded. "Has anyone… has anyone found my-my b-body yet?"_

 _Death shook its head._

" _So what now, are you going to take my soul to the afterlife? Is this the afterlife? This darkness?"_

 _Death chuckled, a small nearly not there smile curved at its lips._

" _No, this is not your afterlife Master, far from it."_

" _Why do you keep calling me that, I'm not a Master of anything and what does my afterlife look like then if not this?"_

 _Death frowned before its countenance reverberated back to the emotionless state. "I suppose you are right. You are no longer my Master, at least not the present you. Your soul is the same as is your body but_ you _are not the same as you once were"_

 _Harry frowned. He really didn't like riddles at all._

" _Why am I am here then."_

 _Death smiled. "You may not be my past Master in your present body but your soul is still the same. I asked you a question in your last life and I shall ask you it again"_

 _The boy with the black eyes morphed into the tall hooded figure once more, a deadly and impossibly dangerous looking scythe held in one boney skeletal hand._

" _Do you wish to pass on into the afterlife or do you wish to return"_

 _Harry stared into the darkness of the hood, oddly calm despite the circumstances he found himself in. He had never felt so calm before and he wondered if this was what it felt like to have composure._

 _Did he want to return to Gotham, to Wayne manor where Bruce was waiting for him to steal his food, rob him of his barely there self-esteem and general torture him worse than the matron at Wool's ever did. He had nothing waiting for him there… nothing except Alfred. His grandfather had showed him nothing but love and kindness since the first day they had met and Harry only knew him as a stranger beside his bed, to abandon the man who had no one else but him would be heartless._

 _But to return to that torture, humiliation and loneliness… well that was unacceptable._

" _What does my afterlife look like? Will I be flying in the clouds, swimming under the sea? Will live the life I've always dreamed of?"_

 _Death did the unexpected and shrugged._

" _Anything you want it to be and it shall. A realistic dream where you are the creator, actor and audience. A world you can never tire of, where you can be eternally happy"_

" _Forever happy?"_

" _Yes."_

 _Harry bit his lips, worrying the flesh until it stung. He could stay and have the life he had always wanted. A mother, a father, a nice house and pets. Friends to play with, movie nights and sleepovers. He had seen what his mother had looked like, the woman had always been a faceless human along with his father but now he had seen her._

" _Before I give you my answer, please tell me what happened to my parents. Why did they leave me to be placed with the Dursley's?"_

 _Death tilted its head. "Your parents died in a car accident. An intoxicated driver collided with their car and sent it over a bridge and into the water below. They both died on the impact, it was almost instantaneous"_

 _Harry nodded and smiled up at the hooded form. "I was loved then. They didn't abandon me, they loved me then"_

 _Death paused and readjusted the grip it had on the scythe._

" _The memories that played before their brains lost capacity tell me that yes. You were loved very much, as much love as two humans can give to someone else"_

 _Harry laughed, the sound almost foreign to his ears. He hadn't laughed in so long it seemed strange to hear such a noise coming from his mouth._

 _He was crying again, the tears not hindered by the biting cold but freely running down his cheeks._

" _I was loved. My mum and dad loved me"_

" _They did. Still do. Even now their afterlife is filled with memories and a life with you. You have grown and lived so many times and each time it's replayed the scenario hardly changes. They… are content and happy with just you three"_

 _Harry's grin seemed to overtake his face and for the first time in a long, long time he felt sheer unadulterated joy._

 _He could have that too, the life he had always wanted. A family of his own, to be happy everyday and each day to wake up with the feeling of being wanted, and needed and love. But a tiny part of him, the sarcastic and mean part that was always snarky and hidden away told him that he could always have that just not yet._

 _And he agreed._

" _I want to go back"_

 _He got the impression that Death had just raised an eyebrow. "Why"_

" _Because I'm not done yet, my grandfather is back there and I'm… I'm not ready to leave just yet."_

" _You wish to go back despite what waits for you there. The pain and hurt from those children, the agony you shall be in from your bones and flesh so cold. You are prepared for that?"_

 _He wasn't actually. He didn't know how he would handle it all but he knew that he would find a way. Alfred needed him just as much as Harry needed the man._

" _No, but I still want to go back"_

 _Death was smiling, he could feel it._

" _Present you is becoming Past you. Your soul is returning as so shall our contract. Not the same as you were before, no no, not even close, but Master is returning, two becomes one"_

 _Death was grinning, it was happy._

" _We shall see each other very soon Master. Very soon indeed"_

 _Harry grinned back and like a light switch had been turned on his body grew numb, his mind fuzzy and he was in pain, so much pain that all he could do was cry out._

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And then Harry woke up.

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 **A/n:** Alrighty then there we go.

Please let's just see how things progress before you raise your torches and ready the stake. Once again no Harry won't be a simpering victim of abuse, no he won't just magically fall in love with Bruce after what he has been through, no this isn't a Stockholm Syndrome relationship, no Harry won't be all forgiving and crap. Actually this has taken a bit of a curveball from what I imagined haha, a bit darker than what it was supposed to be sooo, the genre will be changed after all. Celebrate rebellion, you've won.

I'll try to update after exams, wish me luck against math. No seriously please wish me luck I suck at it.


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